Slytherin Vengeance: Ascent To Power
by Metallicafangirl
Summary: Complete. Book 2 of 3. Blaise returns to Hogwarts, for his sixth year of schooling. New teachers, same old students, same old feuds. The shadow of war lies upon them. Post-OotP
1. Return to Hogwarts

And here comes the first chapter of Book 2. There will be no regular poetry in this Book, as I've been having a hard time finding any that fits the situation, but there will, sporadically, be poetry at the start of a chapter. And from the looks of it, I might put in a song lyric somewhere down the line, but don't worry, it won't turn into a song-fic, no matter what happens.  
  
Disclaimer; I do not own any of the characters or locations described in this story. They belong to JK Rowling and Warner Bros.  
  
*****'  
  
Sunlight filtered in through the window, and it would have woken me up had I been asleep. I wasn't; it had been over 48 hours since I last slept, and it did not look like I would sleep anytime in the closest future. Loss of a family member is a good reason for insomnia. It tends not to go away, and keeps bothering you for years on end. Of course, I had yet to investigate that, but seeing the effects it had had on me only the last two days, I was sure it was true.  
  
Mother, Marise and I were temporarily housed in the village near our house, with what little of our possessions had been saved from the fire. Miraculously enough, my Defence textbook was unharmed, but for some soot stains on the cover and a completely ruined last page. The managed to save a few articles of clothing and among those my father's favourite shirt in a green and silver pattern, which I now kept under my pillow at all times. It was strange to think that our home was gone. Where it had stood, only smoking ruins remained. Smoking ruins that had become my father's final resting place; they had not even been able to find his bones afterwards.  
  
It was funny, really, that a man such as my father would end his life so young, and in such a way. It was not often that wizard houses burned down, as there were many ways to put the fire out by magic, but my father and my mother had both been asleep, my father at his desk on the top floor, and my mother in her bed on the ground floor, when the fire started, and while my mother could get out, it was too late to stop the fire. They did not yet know what had caused the house to burst into flames, but my initial suspicion of Death Eaters was crushed when I realised there had been no Dark Mark in the air above the flaming ruins. And Death Eaters, being who they were, would not burn down a house without letting everyone know it was they who did it.  
  
I walked quietly across the floor towards my trunk, dodging the bed where both my mother and my sister were sleeping. Due to the shortage of rooms, we were all sharing one bedroom, causing late night studying to be impossible. Neither of them slept much anymore though; thoughts of father were haunting them just as much as they were haunting me. I spent the first night after the fire just staring out at nothing, hugging my sister as she cried and trying not to think at all. My mother had been sobbing almost non- stop, worrying about us, about herself, and mourning father like I thought she never would.  
  
The agony I felt that night have not faded in the least, and I don't think it ever will. Maybe I'll learn to live with it. Maybe I won't; whatever happens, I will never forget. Seeing my house in flames is an image that has been burned into the back of my eyelids for all time.  
  
******'  
  
And so came the morning when I had to go to King's Cross once more, and head off to begin my sixth year at Hogwarts. My mother came with me to the platform, although she merely gave me a hug and left, not wanting to leave Marise alone for too long. I couldn't blame her; I wouldn't want to be away from my child for too long either, and it was nice of her to come with me to the platform, even though I'm not her favourite child by far. I'm the complete opposite; I turned out just the way she did not want. I'm too much of a loner for her to approve of me, so it must have taken a lot of her to go with me to King's Cross.  
  
There seemed to be so much more children at platform 9 ¾ this year; I must have stumbled into at least seven first years before I even reached the train. I climbed into the train, dragging my hopelessly light trunk behind me, looking for the part of the train where the Slytherins sat. Houses tend to gather together, even on the train; Ravenclaws right at the front, Slytherins just after them, then Hufflepuffs, and lastly Gryffindors at the very back of the train, which is no more than they deserve. Soon-to-be first years tend to scatter along the train, almost always ending up close to their future Housemates. It's some uncanny knack all of them have. I know I had it in my first year.  
  
I found an empty compartment and settled down to wait. I had no idea where Draco and the girls were; normally, we meet up at the platform and go looking for a compartment together, which Draco then leaves after about half the ride to go and bother Potter. This time, however, I had not even thought about it. I knew my mother had written some letter to someone the day after the fire, but I don't know to whom it was addressed, so I didn't know whether Draco and the others were informed of my loss. Of course, it could have been a letter to Dumbledore, which would make sense.  
  
I pulled out my tattered Defence book from my trunk, and flipped through the damaged pages, looking for something to distract me. I found the page I had left off on, about Blinding Curses, and began to read. Even though it was only September 1st, I wrapped my arms around myself to keep warm, pulling the shirt a bit farther up over my shoulders. I'd brought my father's green and silver shirt with me, and even though my father was broader over the shoulders than I was, and the shirt was too big for me, I was wearing it as much as I could. It made me look even more skeleton-like than I normally did, but I refused to let go of it. A security blanket, if you will.  
  
"...Blinding Curse...Invented in 1236, by Corlath the Thoughtful..." I mumbled as I read.  
  
"Blaise?" Millicent stuck her head in through the door, looking surprised, "Where have you been? We've been looking for you all over."  
  
I looked up at her, startled at her appearance, and had to bite back tears once more. She stepped into the compartment, Pansy right behind her, looking immensely worried at my lack of reply. I slammed my book close, and opened my mouth, trying to find the words to say, but falling much too short. Millicent sat down next to me, raising her eyebrows, and Pansy sat across from me.  
  
"What's wrong, Blaise?" Pansy asked, "You look like you've lost the world."  
  
Her statement fit my situation so perfectly that I could not help but chuckle. It sounded hollow, emptier than it should have been, and it must have startled Millicent and Pansy because they jumped and stared at me. I don't usually laugh at something that is not intended as a joke or a sarcastic comment, so I assume it must have been strange.  
  
"If I've lost the world?" I asked, "You can bet I have. I guess mother didn't write you then?"  
  
"No," Millicent shook her head, "She didn't. About what?"  
  
"Two days ago, our house was burned to the ground," I informed them, "My father is dead."  
  
Plain, simple words, but it was the only way I could think of phrasing it. It was the exact events, and the exact outcome, and I saw no reason to twist it around. What surprised me, however, was when Millicent closed the distance between the two of us and hugged me. Not thinking properly, I hugged her back, letting my book slide into the seat beside me. I could feel Pansy's hand on my shoulder, comforting me along with Millicent. I refused to cry in front of my friends, not wanting to appear weak, and just sat through it silently.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Blaise," Pansy whispered as they let go of me, "I had no idea."  
  
"No one else had either," I shrugged it off; "I'll deal with it."  
  
"We'll be here," Millicent promised me sincerely, "You can wake me up in the middle of the night if you have to."  
  
"You forget one thing, Millie," A voice from the doorway said, "He won't be able to as the stairs to the girl's dormitories won't let him in."  
  
My head snapped around, and I met the eyes of the infamous Draco Malfoy standing in the doorway. He had a small smile on his face, though it was not a particularly happy one, and he stepped into the compartment, dragging his trunk behind him. He didn't have Crabbe or Goyle with him though, which was odd. They followed him everywhere.  
  
"Of course," Draco continued, "I'm sleeping in the same dormitory, so you're welcome to wake me up. I'm sorry; I know what it feels like, almost."  
  
It took me a moment to understand what he meant, but then it hit me; Lucius going to Azkaban must have been almost like losing a father. While I could not imagine truly ever liking Malfoy Senior, I could very well imagine Draco missing him like hell. I know I love my mother, even though she's immensely annoying and not a little condescending at times, and I wouldn't want her to go to Azkaban, not for all the money in the world.  
  
"Yeah, well," I shrugged again, awkwardly, "I'll live. I'll have to."  
  
******'  
  
The door to the restroom slammed closed behind me, the sound echoing in my head. I sighed and rested my head against the door, wishing not for the first time that no one had stopped me when I tried to run into the fire. No matter how supportive my friends were, at the moment, my life was hell. My throat hurt as I tried not to cry, and after swallowing multiple times, I actually succeeded in standing without support.  
  
Due to age and wear, the mirror in the restroom was dented and silent, unlike normal magical mirrors that talked all the time and never said anything useful. What they were good at, though, was reflecting you exact appearance. If you looked ugly, you no doubt were ugly too. I stared into it, noting of course, my in-born ugliness, but also the dark rings beneath my eyes and the way my cheekbones stood out. Since I had missed dinner the day I returned home, and only eaten a sandwich, and my breakfast the next day had been a cup of coffee, I had not eaten much at home, and the last two days, well, I hadn't been hungry, and there had been no time to eat.  
  
Sighing heavily, I began to remove my clothes; as it was about fifteen minutes left till we reached Hogwarts, I needed to change into my robes. As I slid my father's shirt off of my shoulder's I stopped for a moment, staring at it. After wearing it constantly for two days, it felt strange taking it off. After buttoning up my shirt and pulling on my jumper, I looked at it for a moment, before grabbing it and putting it on as well. I slipped my robes on over it, and watched the result in the mirror. Somehow, it felt..right. I might be breaking the dress code, but I couldn't not wear it.  
  
I fumbled a bit with my tie, before finally managing to get it tied correctly, and surveyed my handiwork in the mirror. The green and silver shirt stood out against the stark black and grey of my school uniform, and it was still old and raggedy, with some soot stains on it, but I didn't care; it had belonged to my father, and now it was mine, and I would like to see the teacher who could take it away from me. I did not earn my O's for nothing.  
  
I turned and pushed the door open, ready to head back to my friends. However, my first step outside the restroom door had me running head first into Weasley. I hadn't intended to, and had no idea he was standing just outside the door, and therefore had a hard time slowing down properly. I bashed into him and nearly got knocked to the floor when he shoved me away. I stumbled back and hit the wall, disoriented by both the sudden collision and the immediate consequence, and stared at him in confusion.  
  
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He growled at me, eyes flashing.  
  
"I'm sorry," I apologised, still a bit dizzy, "I didn't see you standing there. I was just leaving the restroom."  
  
He growled something more, looking angrier than I had seen him in a long time, and without warning, he lunged at me, fists flying, and managed to hit me across the face before I had time to put my hands up in defence. I saw stars for a moment, but then everything cleared and I ducked the next blow, wondering what the hell had come over the psychotic Gryffindor, and doubled down towards our compartment, not wanting to face the wrath of Weasley once again.  
  
Fortunately, I managed to reach the compartment before Weasley caught up with me, if he even tried. I halted just outside, and put a hand to my cheekbone, where the blow had landed. Already, I could feel the bruise forming. What the hell had made Weasley jump at me like that? I'd apologised, for crying out loud! I pushed the compartment door open, still grimacing slightly, and stepped inside.  
  
"Hey!" Millicent nearly knocked me over the head with her shoe, "Knock first, will you? We could have been changing clothes in here you know!"  
  
"Sorry," I apologised, "Draco?"  
  
"Yeah?" Draco looked up from his book, "What is it?"  
  
"Did you go and bother Potter earlier?" An explanation for Weasley's odd behaviour had begun to form in my mind.  
  
"Yeah," A grin appeared on Draco's face, "He had his knickers in a twist when I left. Why do you ask?"  
  
"Because Weasley just slapped the hell out of me for no reason," I said, turning my head, "And why are you in here if Pansy and Millie ´might still be changing´?"  
  
"I have my ways," The grin on his face was by now positively glowing.  
  
I snorted but sat down on the seat, picking up my discarded Defence book and resuming my reading about the Blinding Curse. In my opinion, reading about something that interested me was far more important than bothering with the idiotic lesser beings of this world. Gryffindors and their psychotic tendencies could all go to hell in a gilded carriage for all I cared. The train chugged along, the sound lulling me into a trance-like state, almost sleeping, but not quite, since I was aware of everything around me, and it did nothing to help my fatigue.  
  
******'  
  
Where did all these pesky little creatures come from? They're everywhere, running around, talking incessantly and sometimes even screaming at the top of their voices. Their clumsiness and habit of running straight into me, intent on knocking me over and trampling me was soon making me wish I had stayed on the train, playing cards until the end of time. At least then there wouldn't have been any loud, plaguing, midgets running around.  
  
I am speaking, of course, about first years.  
  
It's funny; they never seemed to be this annoying in my previous years. But then I had not recently lost my father and gotten punched by Weasley, all within the same 72 hours. Things like that do tend to ruin my mood. Of course, one would have to be a plaguing midget not to let something like that bother one. I dodged a particularly annoying one and headed for the waiting carriages.  
  
I climbed inside, and sat down on one of the, in my opinion, uncomfortable seats, and waited for my friends to join me. Through the smallish window, I could see the students milling about, looking for empty carriages, but I turned my attention to the Thestrals. They really were nightmarish creatures. They must have been created magically, because nature, while strange, only created creatures within the boundaries of reason. A skeletal horse with dragon wings, that never fed except when given carcasses, and that could only be seen by those who had seen someone die was definitely not within the boundaries of reason.  
  
"Blaise? You in there?" Millicent called.  
  
"Yes." I answered, not turning my head, "Where are the others?"  
  
"Just here." She said, climbing inside, "Hopefully the ride to Hogwarts will be quick; I'm starving."  
  
My stomach growled, but I ignored it. I wasn't hungry; even though my stomach was telling me otherwise. Pansy and Draco climbed inside, and closed the door behind them, and the carriage began to roll off towards Hogwarts. Draco pulled out a deck of cards and began to deal them out, in hope of finishing at least one game before reaching the castle. I didn't join in, but watched them instead from over the top of my Defence book.  
  
"I've got a pair," Pansy informed the world at large, "over ten."  
  
"So have I." Draco replied, "I've got kings, you?"  
  
"Aces," Pansy grinned.  
  
"Damn!" Draco exclaimed, "But I'll win, I swear I will."  
  
I couldn't keep back a grin and shook my head at their antics. Draco always took games such as this one so seriously. It was the same with Quidditch; the hours before a game he had this fanatical look on his face, this glow in his eyes, and you know he'll fight as if the demons of hell were snapping at his heels when he's out there. He won't let Potter get the Snitch, not on the pain of death. The nights after Slytherin loses to Gryffindor are the nights when it is impossible to speak to him; he'll sit in front of the fire and just glare at it for hours, hating himself.  
  
Because he knows he can do better. He can beat both Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws Seekers without a fight; he is good, no matter what Potter might believe. He can fly better than anyone on the Slytherin team. I'm better than he his, if only because I just fly, and don't play Quidditch, but he's good. But Potter is always better. No matter what happens, Potter will always be one step ahead of Draco, unless Draco gets his act together and Seeks during the games instead of taunting Potter. This year, if I have time to, I'm going to make sure Slytherin wins the Quidditch Cup, instead of coming in a measly second.  
  
I took out my quill, and stole a piece of parchment from Millicent's trunk, and began to write a list of what I should accomplish this year. Number one; make sure Slytherin wins the Quidditch Cup, two; pass Defence with highest possible grade, three; decide what I want to do in the future, (something I'd missed out on in fifth year), four; make sure Slytherin wins the House Cup. I ran out of things to do about there, but vowed I would do all of them before the end of sixth year. It was going to keep me occupied. Next year, I might make up another list, or I might even add things to my list this year. Everything to keep me from thinking about more personal occurrences.  
  
Of course, knowing what five years as a Hogwarts residence during the time of Potter had taught me, there would be some disturbance this year, and it would likely result in us not having to do our exams, and the school would most probably be blown up or something. And if not that, then there would be some horrible attacks on Potter and the whole school would be force to sit through some "we-should-all-pity-Potter" speech from Dumbeldore. Hopefully, this time it would be something fun for a change. Something that would result in an amusing illness or something equally laughable.  
  
The carriage came to a stop in front of the castle, and we got out. I was once more amazed at the sheer mass of students that were attending Hogwarts this year. I always though parents would keep their children away from Hogwarts after the Ministry announced that Voldemort was back. It would have made more sense. But, of course, since the Daily Prophet and the Ministry had been lying to them for so long, they might well assume that they were doing so now as well. I noticed Potter having a strange expression on his face; he looked almost as if he had seen a ghost. Well, what did I know; he might even have seen one. It wasn't impossible, since Hogwarts is teeming with ghost, even though few of them choose to go outside the castle walls. The only one who does is Moaning Myrtle, and that's not by choice.  
  
I shook off my rambling thoughts, and turned my attention towards the great castle behind me. It looked the same as it always did; overly large, almost looming, and not a little intimidating. Shuddering, I remembered the million tiny things I had learned over the years about the place. How chilly the dungeon floors would be in the mornings, for example, and how perfectly peaceful the Astronomy Tower was at night, when we were all filling in our star-charts. Another year had arrived, and I would no doubt leave with even more tiny details committed to my memory for all time. I knew for sure that I would never forget the feeling of bare feet on a chilly stone floor in the mornings, and nor would I forget how good those cold stone floors felt in the oppressing heat of summer days.  
  
*****'  
  
Ending Notes; Ah, the Return to Hogwarts. Watch as Blaise rambles even more. 


	2. And the Hat said Slytherin

The second chapter emerges; it seems that this story will have a lot more chapters than I originally intended for it to have. I said we would probably have twenty chapters, right? Well, looking at what I've written and the half-planned rest of it, I think I can safely say I'll have written twenty chapters and not even be close to ending this monster. I'm in over my head; I really am. Too bad I'm enjoying myself so much. *grins*  
  
*****' Hogwarts never changed. Through years of turmoil, year after year of new students wearing down its hallowed steps, it had remained the same. Those stone walls would never crumble, those silent corridors, echoing with the faint sounds of children's laughter would never fall. Hogwarts was, still is, and always has been a constant in every student's life. And a big part of Hogwarts' school year was the Sorting ceremony, as any of the alumni would tell you.  
  
The Sorting ceremony is what decides the rest of a student's stay at Hogwarts; whether it will be bad or good, whether it will be amusing or the most horrible experience in your life. Ravenclaw is probably the best House you can end up in; future employers will think you're extremely smart and hire you before anyone else, and you'll get to stay with people who are a lot like you. Hufflepuff is good in that respect as well, as employers will think you're hardworking, and your Housemates will be intensely loyal. Gryffindors tend to get menial or even dangerous jobs, because any sane employer will realise you lived most of your Hogwarts years as the biggest prankster in the neighbourhood Slytherins are doomed, but proud of it.  
  
But the Sorting ceremony is where these things are decided, so if you end up in the wrong House, you're not going to have a very nice Hogwarts stay. Of course, the nifty thing about the Sorting Hat is that it can't put you in the wrong House; it reads your mind. But what's on the outside is almost never any guide to what's on the inside; therefore, it is amusing to watch first years being Sorted.  
  
Sitting at the Slytherin table, I had a perfect view of the High Table and the teachers and the tiny stool where the Sorting Hat lay. I smiled to myself; each year, the Sorting Hat song seemed to get more and more like that Muggle novel, the Three Musketeers, who said "all for one, and one for all", or possibly the other way around, I've forgotten. But the point was that they seemed to want us to unite; in first year, Slytherin had gotten a most unflattering verse, while Gryffindor was praised. As the years went by though, the contents changed, until last year when everyone got to hear the version that actually pitied Salazar Slytherin. I couldn't wait for this year's version.  
  
The tear in the brim of the Hat opened, and it began to sing the same way it always had; if cloth had a voice, that would be it. I leaned forward and rested my elbows on the table, making sure I caught every word of the lyrics, just to see what it had come up with this year.  
  
.  
  
Welcome you shall be  
  
To yet another year in school  
  
Where you shall learn of history  
  
And how to use magic as a tool  
  
.  
  
In which of the four Houses  
  
Will you then reside?  
  
Which colours of your  
  
clothing shall you abide?  
  
.  
  
Mayhap it shall be Ravenclaw  
  
Or perhaps Hufflepuff?  
  
Or shall the choice stand between  
  
Slytherin, and the lions  
  
Of Gryffindor?  
  
.  
  
High in the tower  
  
The Ravenclaws observe  
  
To great deeds and fame  
  
Their knowledge will serve  
  
.  
  
The Hufflepuffs find beauty  
  
in work and honesty  
  
Perhaps it shall be they  
  
Who get your loyalty?  
  
.  
  
Nobility and courage  
  
Are what Gryffindor sees  
  
If you have these two  
  
You shall fit in with ease  
  
.  
  
While Slytherin is fearsome  
  
Here also many dreamers hide  
  
Should you take this path  
  
You just might turn the tide  
  
.  
  
Whichever House it is  
  
in which you your friends will make  
  
Don't worry at all  
  
I'll choose for your sake  
  
.  
  
It silenced, and was met by roaring applauds from every corner of the Great Hall. The Sorting ceremony began, and McGonagall stepped up to the stool and started reading out the names of the first years. After a while, everyone settled down to listen, completely quiet. The Sorting ceremony was definitely one of the things that you did not even think about disturbing, even if you were a prankster.  
  
I blinked. Damn; that was a good one. Never before had it spoken about Slytherin in such flattering ways; while ambitious might be flattering, dreamer was definitely more so. And "You just might turn the tide" had a definite prophetic quality. This year just might be different from the previous ones. Maybe the others would realise Slytherin would be there even when the Light won, this time. Though I doubted that; they never had before. I shook off my thoughts, and concentrated on the Sorting; I wanted to know what first years we would be saddled with this year, after all.  
  
"Angevine, Cain," McGonagall called, and a small, brown-haired boy made his way from the back of the group to the stool, putting the Hat on his head.  
  
A tense moment of silence followed, before the tear in the brim of the Hat opened once more, shouting out the name of the House Cain Angevine would be Sorted into. I held my breath, not wanting to disturb it in the least.  
  
"Slytherin!"  
  
Our table erupted in cheers loud enough to deafen an elephant as we welcomed Cain to our House. I must have cheered the loudest, because Millicent, who was sitting next to me, leaned away, laughing at me. The little first year arrived at the table, looking shaken at our enthusiastic greeting, before I turned around to watch the next person be sorted.  
  
"Darius Bungard," I sniggered a bit at the name.  
  
It was a boy as well, with sandy hair this time. I was too far away from the stool to see any more details than that, so I gave up and watched instead. The Hat was placed on the boy's head, and about half a minute ticked by before it shouted. I had begun to look around me, wondering what had happened when it finally gave the shout.  
  
"Ravenclaw!"  
  
Well finally, I thought, rolling my eyes. That Hat sure has a hard time making up its mind sometimes. I turned my attention away from the Sorting after that, and drifted off into thoughts. Every year at the sorting ceremony, Slytherin is handed about seven new students, all of which can either become Death Eaters, or model students, or something in between. In all of those students, possibilities lie hidden. External forces; their parents, their teachers, their future employers, but also we, their friends and role-models, would affect them in ways we couldn't even imagine. One wrong word might turn them onto the path to Voldemort, just as one right word might turn them towards the Light.  
  
In the background, I could hear even more students being Sorted, and applauded dutifully each time a new Slytherin entered our ranks, but I was far away in my thoughts. I was scanning the High Table. It might seem strange to spend my first night back at school staring at my teachers, and it is, but over the years I had developed it as a defence mechanism. After so many horrible Defence teachers, you learned to watch out for potential psychos. They always seemed to have something strange about them, already at the Welcoming Feast.  
  
The teachers were all watching the Sorting, looking quite satisfied and happy, with the obvious exception of my uncle, Snape. He has yet to look happy any time of year, much less at the Welcoming Feast. Next to him, where the Defence teacher usually sat, Professor Sinistra was now sitting. This confused me momentarily, and at first I assumed she was going to be the new Defence teacher, but then I whacked myself over the head mentally, and looked over the rest of the seats. Professor Trelawney's chair was empty, but that was nothing new; it always was. There was one empty chair left though, in between Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall, which I assumed must belong to this year's Defence teacher.  
  
A teacher not being present at the Feast was not a good sign; that was what fake-Moody had done, and he had turned out to be a Death Eater. Hopefully, this teacher merely had a headache or something. I didn't think I could take another year of dastardly plots that affected my Defence teachers. Without my noticing it, the Sorting had ended, and the chatter started up again, but died down quickly as Dumbledore stood up to speak.  
  
"Welcome to yet another year at Hogwarts" He began, looking out over us, "Welcome back, all of our older students; you have been sorely missed this summer. Hogwarts is not the same without you. This year, I am proud to say that we did manage to get yet another Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, though due to temporary illness, he will not be joining us tonight."  
  
A lot of mumbling broke out around me at this statement; by now, everyone knew the curse associated with the Defence position. I congratulated myself on being right about the illness, and hoped to myself that it was a simple illness, and not something like Lupin's lycanthropy. Having a more or less normal teacher, who got normal illnesses like the flu or a cold for once would be nice.  
  
"The list of forbidden items in the corridors has grown to include the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes articles of the names Exploding Snappers, Rainbow Bombs, Lightning Sticks and Edible Parchment. Further I would like to add that the Restricted Section of the library is still restricted, and that all students are prohibited entrance to the North Tower. Now," Dumbledore beamed, "Tuck in!"  
  
I blinked. If that was not the most cryptic start-of-term speech I had ever heard, then I did not know anything. But my confusion disappeared as food began to fill the plates and bowls in front of me. I grinned widely; food was high on my list of priorities. My mouth watered as I watched the delicious Hogwarts food in front of me, and I did not wait to snatch up my plate and start filling it. Mashed potatoes, plates of bacon, shepherd's pie, Yorkshire puddings, enough gravy to last an Imperial army, and I had no clue where to start. I had to save space for the sweets too, which could prove a problem. But then again, being a growing and healthy young boy, I had space enough to spare. I piled shepherd's pie and bacon onto my plate, and settled back to eat with the first grin I had worn in days adorning my face. It was a satisfied grin, a grin of anticipation, but nothing more.  
  
"Hungry Blaise?" Millicent asked me, smiling.  
  
"Yeah, a bit," I nodded, beginning to stuff it into my mouth, "And since my mother told me not to speak with food in my mouth, I'll have to shut up now."  
  
"Well, thank god for small mercies," Millicent grinned, before piling food onto her own plate, "We wouldn't want you talking, after all."  
  
I would have stuck out my tongue at her, but as my mouth was full of food, I refrained from doing so. I made a face at the second year across from me instead; she was looking at me strangely. I hate when people look at me strangely; it usually means they're noting my eye colour, even though that comes after staring for a full minute at my bony face. Alright, I know I'm ugly; that doesn't give them the right to stare their eyes out at me, does it? The second year looked away quickly, probably scared of me. A lot of the younger ones are; I can't imagine I look that scary, so I don't really understand them.  
  
I surveyed this year's crop of first years, chewing on a piece of bacon. There was Cain, of course, but also an odd assortment of little boys and girls, eating away at the dishes in front of them, still looking slightly scared. They should be; no one quite knew what the first night in the Snake Pit would be like, not even those of us who had been there for a long time. And from what I remember, the first night at Hogwarts is enough to freak you out, no matter how stable and sane you are. Tomorrow, no doubt, when classes began, Cain and the others would be bleary eyed and tired, wondering why they ever chose to come to Hogwarts.  
  
And then, we would teach them about the true meaning of Slytherin.  
  
In a sense, Slytherins ruled Hogwarts. We might be hated and despised, but we were always there. Whenever Gryffindors failed, we were there to laugh at them. Whenever Ravenclaws' knowledge ran out, we were there to steal their books. Whenever Hufflepuffs fell, we were there to kick them when they were down. We were, in short, everywhere, and we had always been everywhere. I smiled. We were there, even when everyone else had fallen, plotting our revenges, or our next plan. I mused on the superiority that was Slytherin, until the plates emptied, and we had to leave the Hall.  
  
"Prefects! Lead the first years to your House!" Dumbledore ordered happily, "May you all have a good night's sleep!"  
  
The Slytherin House stood up as one, and the first years looked around to find their prefects. Draco, with his badge displayed proudly on his chest, waved them to him, and although they looked confused at the lack of a second prefect, they followed him. As they passed, I took the opportunity to look them over. Small, brave faces, prepared to face a night in the dungeons of Hogwarts, with people they didn't know. Some of them, of course, had older siblings in our ranks, but it wasn't the same. Not at all; a sibling can't hold your hand in the dark of a new room when you're scared, and they can't go to classes with you when you're nervous enough to throw up. A sibling can't be there when you need them the most, because they aren't you.  
  
******'  
  
The walk to the dungeons has never been nice, though I suppose it's better in the summertime, when the halls aren't so bloody freezing. The portraits in the dungeons aren't nice, and they aren't polite, and they sure as hellfire aren't ready to give you directions when you're lost. They're more likely to laugh at you when you try to find your way. Trust me, Christoph, the resident vampire painting gets a kick out of misleading young students, and girls especially. He freaks me out, and that's saying something.  
  
With every other Slytherin in school at the present time, I wandered down the stairs and winding corridors to our Common Room. The dungeon corridors are dark and the air was slightly humid, as it always has been. There's dark down here so old that it had come alive. It moved, and sometimes, I swore that I could hear it breathing. I could hear it whisper in the corners; memories of people who lived here hundreds of years ago linger on, especially down here in the living dark, where memories do not fade, but become part of the darkness. I looked ahead over the mass of students, and could make out Draco's peroxide blonde head at the front of the group.  
  
"The password is Mordre," He called out, turning to all of us. "Remember that; you'll have use for it as I'm sure you understand. If you don't, well; there's no helping some people."  
  
With a nasty smile, he disappeared through the opening behind the painting of Valji the Unrepentant, leaving the poor first years scared out of their wits. Sighing, I elbowed by way through the group of students in front of the portrait hole, ignoring the yelps of pain that emitted as my sharp elbows connected with some poor student's ribs. I was tired, I was hungry again, even though I'd eaten less than a quarter of an hour ago, and if I did not get to sleep within the next half hour, I was going to hurt someone, badly.  
  
******'  
  
Ending Notes; it was shorter than average, but I did just spend a whole chapter going through the Sorting ceremony. I even went into the meandering ramblings that is Blaise's mind. Now, please leave a review, even if you think it's bad. Thank you all for the reviews I already have. 


	3. A Different Kind of Day

Not much to say, except thanks for the reviews, and I hope you like what I've written.  
  
****' To say I was prepared for my first day of sixth year would be to tell a horrible lie. Of all my school books, only one had survived the fire. However, as we rarely did anything else the first day than went through what we did last year, this would be no problem. Or so I thought. As always, I chose the stupidest thing possible, and assumed I was safe. We only had our first lesson in all classes today, and even though McGonagall was infamous for her terrorising of students, even she could not believe we would do anything on the first day.  
  
I was right about her.  
  
I woke too early for my tastes, the first day of school, which happened to be a Thursday. The week day has no significance, but I felt that from now on, I would hate Thursdays. I rolled out of bed; eyes still closed shut against the blasted sunlight, and tried to crawl across the floor to find my clothes. I managed to get hold of some trousers which were probably black, and my father's old shirt. Pulling them on without any semblance of neatness, I stood up. Or at least, I tried to; I had crawled so far across the floor that I had ended up with my head under Goyle's bed. Therefore, I got myself a nice bump and a headache. And it wasn't even breakfast yet.  
  
I opened my eyes and tried not to look directly at the sunlight, something I otherwise never failed to do. I got a hold of my tie and my robes, throwing them on. Draco and the other two were still sleeping, but if I didn't get a caffeine injection within fifteen minutes, I was going to keel over dead. Dragging my too light book bag off my bed, I walked out the door, making sure not to make too much noise, as Crabbe has an issue with getting his sleep in the mornings. Goyle's easier to deal with, as he's a bit of a nightowl, if not too much, and knows that he's going to be grouchy in the morning no matter when he wakes up.  
  
I skipped the creaking step in the stairs, calculating the time it would take to get to the Great Hall in my head as I went. After five years in the same dormitory, you learn which steps creak and which don't. The Common Room was empty with the exception of Theodore Nott, who's been sleeping on the couch since his second year, our third. He has a problem with nightmares, which apparently goes away if he sleeps on the couch. Don't ask me why; he was always the weird one. I would be too, if my father was Avery Nott.  
  
Well out in the corridor, I walked as quickly as possible. I didn't run, as that would wake up the portraits, who would complain loudly and in turn wake up the students, who would themselves wake up Snape, and Snape is not someone I like to deal with before coffee, uncle or no. He's grumpier than I am, and that's saying something.  
  
"Just another ten minutes," I muttered as I began to climb the steps, my book bag hitting my side with each step, annoying me even further, "Just another ten.."  
  
To distract myself from the increasing urge for caffeine, I began to count the steps. One, two, three...I kept going until I reached the top; a hundred and forty, a hundred and forty one, a hundred and forty two. The last step was dished in the middle, from centuries of wear, and I nearly slipped trying to walk over it. I caught myself just in time, and looked up. There, just beyond the one minute barrier, was the entrance to the Great Hall. One whole more minute before I reached it. The agony!  
  
"Coffeeee." I mumbled, forcing my eyes to stay open. "Coffeeee.."  
  
I was steps away from the door when I slammed into someone. I stumbled, lost my footing, hitting the floor face first, and heard a distinct crunch in my nose. Pain exploded just behind my eyes, and I would have cursed, had my face not been plastered to the floor. Ow. I pushed myself up again; ready to glare at the offender who had stopped me from reaching my coffee. I turned so I was sitting on the floor, and found myself face to face with the most infernally annoying person in the world, who was quickly climbing my list of people I had to kill before I turned twenty.  
  
"Granger," I asked slowly, "What the hell are you doing tripping me up like that?"  
  
"Zabini, for the love of all things holy, I didn't trip you up!" Granger snapped back at me, "You tripped me! You should be looking where you're going you know; that's the second time you've knocked me over."  
  
As sure as Hogwarts was still standing, Hermione freaking Granger had managed to trip me, and from the feel of it, seriously damaged my nose. The list of things that had gone wrong for the day was on about five points and growing. And I still hadn't had any breakfast. She was glaring at me, worse than I had even seen her glare at Draco when he pulled one of his worst tricks on her, and that was about as bad as you could get. I scowled, but decided to drop it, as I had no desire to fight with anyone, much less a Gryffindor know-it-all, before a proper cup of coffee.  
  
I pulled myself up off the floor, and headed into the Great Hall. Let her sit there and glare at me if she wanted; I needed coffee, and I needed it now.  
  
The Great Hall was blessedly empty, but for a few early risers, and only one of them at the Slytherin table. And I knew that Gaspar Montague wouldn't be bothering me; he was too busy studying for the upcoming tests to even notice me. Gaspar is the Slytherin House's own personal Granger; he's a know-it-all, but not in the same way Granger is. Where Granger is annoying, Gaspar knows when to shut up.  
  
I grabbed the closest cup of coffee, which stood not two inches away from my usual seat. The House Elves seemed to have learned my habits by now; great creatures they are too. Something Granger seems to have forgotten; but no matter. I had coffee, I had peace and quiet; all was good with the world. Caffeine had to be some god-sent gift to mankind; I would never be able to live without it.  
  
I was at about my third cup when Millicent finally showed up, looking tired as hell. She gave me a smile, and I held up three fingers, signalling that it was safe to speak to me without risking one's head. She sat down, careful not to disturb me despite my reassurance, and leaned forward.  
  
"How are you doing?" She asked, "Got everything? No need to run back and find a book with only a minute till class?"  
  
"No," I shook my head, "I've got everything I own on me. No need to worry."  
  
"Good." She pulled out a schedule, "My first lesson is Potions. What's yours?"  
  
"Arithmancy, I think," I wrinkled my nose, which still hurt a bit, "And with my luck, I'm going to get stuck next to Granger. And she's going to nag at me the whole lesson, and probably sock me in the eye to get me a bruise to go with my nose. I'm going to look like a bloody racoon before this day is over."  
  
"Your nose?" Millicent asked me, "What does Granger have to do with your nose?"  
  
I told her the sorry tale, and not surprisingly, she laughed. I gave a humourless smile; I hate it when she laughs at me. She's so often right about things, and she can see humour in places I haven't even looked, which makes me look stupid. I hate looking stupid too. I hate a lot of things, and at the moment Hermione Granger is one of them. I finished my coffee, and stood up. Arithmancy was on the other side of the castle, and I'd need time to get there. Hopefully, Granger wouldn't be tripping me this time.  
  
******'  
  
The list has grown; some portrait of a knight on a fat pony challenged me to a duel on my way to the Arithmancy classroom, demanding he'd fight me for, and I quote, "the lady's honour". I pointed out that there was no lady, and left him behind, as he screamed insults and curses at me. I wonder who he was. Either way, I sat down in my seat about ten minutes before the lesson started, wishing I had not kept my books stashed in my house. It would have been easier to get through the lesson with proper materials.  
  
I needed to pay outmost attention in Arithmancy this year; after fifth year, the equations got progressively harder and all numbers seemed to turn into bits and pieces. As if it wasn't complicated enough before that. Arithmancy is, without a doubt, the most difficult to understand magic in the world; where Transfiguration might have strange theories, Arithmancy attempts to explain itself so far that even I get lost. I'd rather they'd just let us believe two and two is four just because someone felt like it. And I don't share Professor Vector's passion for numbers. It just seems crazy to me to believe that the answer to everything lies in numbers, which appears to be what Vector thinks.  
  
Don't get me wrong; she's good at what she does, but she just can't quite grasp that not everyone is as good at mathematics as she is. She tends to rush through things without much explaining, expecting us to do the explaining on our own. I sat there for a while on my own, before some other students, mostly Ravenclaws began to pour into the classroom. There was that Lisa Turpin girl, and Boots. The smarter Patil sister was there too, chatting with her friends. They settled down around me, forming a ring of defence, almost, unconsciously protecting me from any stray Gryffindors that might be around. One day, I'll thank the Ravenclaws for their kind, if misplaced, generosity. Just not today.  
  
But then, only minutes before the class were scheduled to start, horror struck. There was an empty seat next to me, as I had run out of Ravenclaws, and Granger, for once late to a lesson, came in and as it was the only empty seat in the classroom, she was forced to sit in it. Gah! Hell was upon me! Flee, thou foul monstrosity! Flee, I say! Return to whence thy came!  
  
However, my internal rant was no use, as moments later, Professor Vector entered the classroom and it was too late to change seats. I would have jumped out the window, but I feared someone would catch me and stop me from getting free of my misery. I might have known things would turn out this way; I'd said so to Millicent earlier. I should learn not to jinx my luck like that; it's no good for my health.  
  
"Good morning class!" Professor Vector chirped altogether too brightly for eight o clock on a Thursday morning, "I hope you all had a good holiday! Why don't you tell me what happened?"  
  
I snorted; good holiday? And as for events; you want those events chronologically, alphabetically or in order of the worst first? It would be easier to do the latter, as I certainly knew the first on that list. I glanced down on my sleeve, or rather the sleeve of my father's shirt, standing out against the stark black of our robes. I tucked it in, trying to hide it. Breaking the dress code would result in removal of five points from the students House, and I did not wish to lose five points on the first day. I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye, and turned quickly. Vector was still prattling on about our summer holidays in the background, though I ignored her.  
  
Next to me, looking mighty suspicious was Granger, staring at where my shirt sleeve had been only moments before. I rolled my eyes; that girl has too much time on her hands if she starts worrying about what I do with my clothing during class. Unless I take it off of course. Uh, no, let's not go there. I'd like to keep my clothes in, especially in this freezing castle. I'm not an exhibitionist, and I won't ever be. I have no idea where the idea came from, and honestly, I'd rather not know. Had I had a Beater's bat on hand, I would have beaten my brains out.  
  
"Mr Zabini?" Vector's voice cut through my train of thought, which seemed to have left the station without me, "Would you like to tell us about your summer please?"  
  
"No," I replied, looking up.  
  
"Excuse me?" She asked, confused.  
  
"I said; no." I forced myself not to roll my eyes at her slowness, "I would not like to tell you about my summer."  
  
"But you have to!" Granger exclaimed next to me, apparently horrified about the concept of not answering questions properly.  
  
"And who asked you?" I questioned, turning to her, "It's just a question, not an assignment, and I don't have to answer unless I fell like doing so. If you have another opinion about this, please take it elsewhere; like the hallway, for example, or someone who cares."  
  
We sat there in silence, glaring at each other. If looks could kill, Granger would be six feet under and ahead on her way to rotting. Vector cleared her throat, but I didn't turn my head; I'd be damned if I let Granger win this contest, even if it was such a measly contest as a glaring one. Finally, when Vector cleared her throat a second time, Granger backed off, as she rightly should; being an obnoxious know-it-all shouldn't get her special treatment.  
  
"Mr Zabini, Ms Granger, please, stop it, or I am going to be forced to take points from you both," Vector said sternly "Now pay attention; if you don't feel like telling us something about your summer, then that's alright, Mr Zabini. Ms Granger, if you want to say something in class, please raise your hand first."  
  
Granger being reprimanded by a teacher? Whoohoo! This was my lucky day! Zabini; 1, Granger; nil. The games had begun. Or not. Now I needed to concentrate on the lesson, or I would lose points no matter how small my offence; Vector was looking mighty annoyed by now. I settled in to listen to everyone telling about their summers, thankful that I wasn't going to have to use my textbook today, as I had none.  
  
*******'  
  
Arithmancy was over, and I had no bruises. The day was starting to look up again, though they say it's always darkest before the dawn, and I could see storm clouds on the horizon. For all I knew, I might have bruises to last me a lifetime before lunch. I trudged down the steps, heading for Charms, which was my next lesson. Hopefully, Flitwick would only have us take notes this time, and not start with the real teaching until next time. I could but hope and pray, with fear of sounding like some old Muggle poet.  
  
I wandered through the halls, not really paying attention to my surroundings. By now, everyone from second year and up had learned about my tendency to drift off into thoughts and my ability to stay there for quite a while, so I wasn't bothered. Now, with things settling into a normal routine once again, I was finding time to think. Time to think that I really didn't want.  
  
After the fire, everything had gone so fast; with only two days to the start of school, it hadn't really sunk in until the first night at Hogwarts, and even though this was only the first day, the familiarity of the surroundings worked their magic, for lack of a better word, on me, and it felt as if I had been here forever. And it made me think about things. I guess the fact that my father was really and truly gone forever never really entered my mind. Until I walked down the stairs from the Arithmancy classroom at good old Hogwarts, that was. My father was, and always would be, gone.  
  
After years of knowing that I could reach him with a simple letter or through the Floo, the feeling of acute loneliness this knowledge lent me was unsettling. It felt like losing my footing and stumbling around without a goal. I felt like just sitting down on the steps and not moving ever again, but I forced myself to take another step, ignoring my thoughts to the widest extent possible. I had a lesson to get to, a life to live, and dwelling on the past would do me no good. Boys don't cry, after all.  
  
Charms class went just as smooth and easy as Arithmancy had, with the exception of no fights with Granger. I still got stuck with her in class though. Seeing as she was taking Arithmancy and Charms, she was probably not going to pass up on Transfiguration and Defence either. I'd be stuck with her all year, even if she did something insane like taking Potions along with everything else, forcing her to either split time in two or have lessons in the middle of the night. Of course, knowing her well enough to predict her, she was going to do so or die trying. Eh, I wasn't going to her funeral anyway, so it wasn't really my problem.  
  
I was dreading my Transfiguration lesson, which was the last of the day; McGonagall was notorious for disliking Slytherin, and as far as I knew, I was the only one taking Transfiguration this year. I was going to be in such big trouble before the week was out; if Granger was, as I feared, taking Transfiguration, I was going to have my work cut out for me trying not to snap at her. Detentions loomed ahead of me that was for sure.  
  
************'  
  
I love food. There's no secrets about that, and I would go through almost as many things for food as I would for coffee, although coffee wins that particular contest by a mile. One of the reasons to why I love food is the luncheon at Hogwarts. There is not one thing imaginable that isn't on the table, and all of it tastes so good, it would make even the pickiest gourmet's mouth water. I, of course, did not mind much how the food tasted, as long as it wasn't foul enough to gag a goat, I'd eat it.  
  
I sat there, happily munching away on my lunch, which consisted of sausages, mashed potatoes, and the ever so popular pumpkin juice, not a care in the world. Almost. I had Defence as soon as lunch was over, no doubt with every Gryffindor in existence and with a completely new teacher. That was another of the things that was annoying with constantly changing Defence teachers; it took a whole year to get to know their quirks and the second to start using them to your advantage, but with the Defence teachers averaging on one year in total, I never had time to get to know them. A real setback, that was.  
  
"Millie?" I asked as I cut my second sausage in two, "You're taking Defence this year, aren't you?"  
  
"Yeah, I am," She nodded, "I want to know who the teacher is though; hopefully Dumbledore won't mess up and hire someone like Umbridge again."  
  
"Nah, I don't think he will," I replied and glanced up at the Head Table, even though Dumbledore wasn't there, "That would turn most of the student body against him. No, scratch that; not most, all of them would. And not only turn; they would form a bloody rebellion. And I'd be the ring leader. Trust me on that one,"  
  
Millicent laughed, knowing full well that I would kill someone if I was forced to sit through one more lesson under a teacher like Dolores Jane Umbridge, the worst teacher in Hogwarts history, beating even the infamous Lockhart, who had managed, despite obvious setbacks, to teach us something; never to trust someone who wore pastel robes for no good reason.  
  
"Well," I said, raising my goblet of pumpkin juice, "Here's to a good Defence teacher, and a hopefully peaceful year."  
  
"Hear, hear," Millicent replied, raising her own goblet. "Let us hope that this one doesn't have any mental deficiencies."  
  
"We can but hope," I grinned, albeit a forced one.  
  
******'  
  
Silence ruled our small group as we sat down in our seats in the Defence classroom. The horrible, frilly curtains and pink, lacy tablecloths of Umbridge's time had been forcibly removed from the surroundings, and replaced with assorted bookshelves, as well as a wide space at the back of the classroom, probably put aside for spell practising. And the room had a definite darker shade now; a map of some obscure, far-away place was hung on the wall, mostly coloured black or red, and there was a black cape draped across the back of the chair behind the teacher's desk.  
  
Millicent and I settled down next to each other, huddling together as the only Slytherins in the class, against the impressive number of Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws and Gryffindors. Potter was there, as well as Granger, Weasley and all other Gryffindors of their year. From Ravenclaw there was Bones, Boots, Brocklehurst and Turpin. MacDougal hadn't showed up, although there were rumours of him having caught some odd illness. What surprised me though, was the number of Hufflepuffs; Defence was always a major choice for Ravenclaws and Slytherins, though Gryffindors got in on thinking it was spiffy to know dangerous spells, but the Badgers never chose Defence unless they were, shall we say, a bit odd. For Hufflepuffs, at least.  
  
As the teacher wasn't present, the class began to chatter, following the behavioural pattern of all classes in the multi-universe, if left on their own for too long. I leaned back in my chair and stared at the blackboard. There was something different about the classroom, other than the new decorations. Whenever a teacher is present in a room, there's a different feel to it. That was the feel it had now; our new Defence teacher was already here. I focused my attention on the chair in the front of the room, and stayed silent. I would give the teacher no reason to remove points from Slytherin on the first day.  
  
Millicent noticed I was staying silent, something I nearly never did otherwise, if I had the chance to ramble, and wise chose to follow my lead. I was by now dead-sure that the Defence teacher was in the room, and couldn't wait for him to reveal himself. Obviously he was good at stealth; no one would be able to hide for that long in a room full of students without making a sound unless said person was exceptionally good at what he did. I tried to reason my way to where he was, deducting that he wasn't using an Invisibility Cloak because there were no places for him to stand without either casting a shadow or being in the way of the students.  
  
Something made me turn my head and stare at the window, at the heavy red curtain that hung to one side of it. It must have been some strange sound, but I did. Before my eyes, a figure began to appear, slowly, as if it took time to gather all its pieces from the air around it. Before my eyes, our defence teacher came into view. It had to be him; who else would be hiding in the Defence classroom in time for our class? I stared at him, but he just glanced at me before looking at the rest of the class.  
  
I have to say, he was very unlike any other Defence teacher we ever had. He seemed to favour black where the others had gone for brown, turquoise, purple and a horrible cardigan, and not the normal, baggy robes either; more like the shirts and suits Muggles wore, but not quite. He was very tall, where the others had been short to average. And he had longer hair than any of the others put together. He kept it braided down his back, though some of it escaped him and hung in his eyes. They were a peculiar, not to say freakish colour, kind of like mine. They were, and I kid you not, red. Freaky. And I thought mine were weird.  
  
He walked to the front of the classroom, and stood there with his arms crossed for a minute or two, before he raised his eyebrow silently. The class were still talking, with the exception of me and Millicent. He cleared his throat to get their attention, and it snapped around immediately. Granger had the grace to look slightly embarrassed.  
  
"Of all of you, only one person managed to realise I was here," He said, speaking in a low, calm voice, though there was a hint of amusement to it. "I do not wish to know why this was the case, although I could probably blame your lack of decent teachers in my subject over the years, but this will have to change."  
  
Everyone watched him silently, and Potter looked a bit angry for some reason. I raised my eyebrow; surely the professor hadn't said anything insulting yet, had he? I had to keep myself from grinning, as the new professor seemed like the kind to be suspicious of grinning students, but I was pleased that someone had managed to make Potter angry even without meaning to. Potter was a constant annoyance in my life, and therefore I enjoyed every bit of anger directed his way.  
  
"You are all here because you have proven yourself apt at my subject, but before the year is out, you will have to become even better." The teacher rattled on, fixing each of us with a stare. "I will not accept that any of you get a lower result than Exceeds Expectations on your end-of-year exams. I will take it as a personal insult, and you do not want me as your enemy. There will be no free time for you, until you have done your homework and checked it twice. There will be test at least once a week, and I will not accept anyone failing these. Any questions before I go on?"  
  
No one dared to ask anything, not even Granger, having been frightened by his sudden appearance. But I raised my hand quickly, trying to keep the smile contained; now would not be a good time to starts grinning. Not that I wasn't thankful for my natural ability to laugh at anything returning. It just wasn't a good time. The teacher nodded at me, and I pulled my hand down again.  
  
"Yes, you, what is your name?" He asked before I had a chance to open my mouth.  
  
"Zabini, sir." I replied, "I have a question; no one had seen it fit to supply us with your name, so we have no idea of how to address you. Would you mind giving us your name, or is that a well kept secret?"  
  
"My mother always did say I left my manners at the door," He mumbled before nodding quickly and turning to the rest of the class, "My name is Vincent Lucas, but you will address me as Professor Lucas or sir only, anything else will result in removal of points from your House."  
  
I blinked. Well, if that wasn't strict, I didn't know what was. McGonagall was simple to handle compared to this one. Snappish, but fair. I liked that. I didn't really care if the teacher insisted on being called "Daisy" when his real name was Charles, as long as he or she was fair to the students. I had seen way too much favouritism to be able to stand it anymore. I re-focused on Professor Lucas again, once more noting that very odd colour of his eyes.  
  
"From the documentation of your classes, which has been very weak and random in places, it appears you have learned just about what a normal third year student knows. In class, that is," He added, raising an eyebrow, "I am well aware of the extra-curricular spell-teachings that goes on at Hogwarts. Even the disorganised ones. As all of you passed your O.W.L's with distinction, I shall hazard a guess and say you have been reading non- class required material as well. Hopefully, this year's book will be enough for you. Open it up on the first page, and you will see what we shall be learning this year."  
  
I pulled out my book and turned to the first page, praying that it was still there and not incinerated. Thankfully, it wasn't, and I could read that our first lesson would be a repeat of what we had learned last year, just to see what we remembered. I made a mental list of what we had actually learned, and came up pretty short. Number one; don't trust people in woolly cardigans, number two; don't sleep in the Defence lessons, number three; don't trust people in woolly cardigans. And that was about it.  
  
Professor Lucas was writing something on the blackboard. "I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright, who art black as hell and dark as night", it read, puzzling me for a moment. Why would he be writing poetry on the blackboard at a time like this? He turned around again, and looked at the class. His gaze lingered on me for a moment, or rather my book, but amounts to the same thing.  
  
"Mr Zabini, please see me after class," He said abruptly, leaving me blinking. What did I do? "We have no more time right now, as this lesson had to be shorter than the others by necessity. Write down the phrase on the blackboard, and it will be your homework to learn it till next time. You may leave."  
  
Alright, that was the oddest Defence lesson I'd had in all my time at Hogwarts, and with my teachers, that's saying something. What he wanted with me was still a puzzle though; I had done nothing but ask for his name, and he wanted to see me after class. Maybe he wasn't used to students talking in his classroom, or even daring to ask questions. While I had liked Professor Lucas good enough at the beginning of the lesson, he was beginning to get on my nerves by now.  
  
*****'  
  
Ending Notes; and enter a new and shocking teacher. I wonder where Blaise will go next? *sigh* This is what happens when you write without a firm plotline; your characters run away with the story. 


	4. Ramblings of a Slytherin

I'm so sorry for the long wait, but I'm having problems with my computer, and will have for a while, unless I can get my brother to fix them somehow. Since he's terminally lazy, that won't be for another while. But I've gotten all chapters up to the ninth written already; my only problem is uploading them.  
  
Thank you everyone for your reviews, they've been wonderful, *waves to Skoosie*. I hope you like this instalment of Slytherin Vengeance.  
  
******'  
  
Tick, tack, tick, tack, tick, tack.  
  
That clock was really starting to get on my nerves. The last minute before class ended was going so damn slowly. I wondered what Professor Lucas might want with me, considering the fact that I had done nothing wrong. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the lesson ended. As everyone filed out of the classroom, I remained in my seat. Millicent clapped me on the shoulder in reassurance, and I smiled up at her, though it was forced. I hated getting into trouble with teachers, since they seemed to be champion grudge- holders.  
  
Lucas sat behind his desk, staring at me for a moment, before he opened his mouth. I really didn't want to know what he was going to say, but I had no choice but to listen to him. It's not like you can ignore someone who's just about three inches taller than me and who's staring at you with red eyes. I'm freakishly tall, but Lucas beat even me. My mother must have slipped some growth-solution into my food when I was little.  
  
"Mr Zabini," Lucas began, fixing me with what was the most disconcerting look I'd seen in years, "When you come to my class, I expect you to bring sufficient materials. That," He gestured at my burned book, "is not enough. If you show up in my class with that book again, I will be forced to dock points from Slytherin. Be warned."  
  
Anger boiled in my mind. How dare he forbid me to use my own book? It was one of the very few things that had survived the fire, along with assorted useless trinkets and my father's shirt. The only reason I was still in possession of my broomstick was that it was stored in a shack some way away from the house. Glaring at him, but deciding not to lose any points for Slytherin on the first day, I nodded silently, and stood up, walking out of there without waiting for a dismissal. I was way too angry to deal with him right now. I was way too angry to deal with anyone. He didn't call after me, so I assumed that was it.  
  
I stalked down the corridor to get to Transfiguration before I ran late. I did not want to face McGonagall's wrath on top of this, as she wasn't likely to make allowances for a Slytherin student. I realised I was already late, and started running. Curse be to all Defence teachers; and I'd started off liking this one too, and then he had to go and ruin it by saying something like that and make me furious.  
  
*******'  
  
I turned a corner and tried to stop before I hit the door to the Arithmancy classroom, but it was a failed attempt; I crashed into it head-first, and it yielded to my weight, letting me in and causing me to fall face first on the floor. I really, truly hate Thursdays. The class snickered at me as I got back up on my feet, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see Potter and Granger both grinning. Scowling, I made my way to my seat, sitting down next to one of the apparently nameless Hufflepuffs and turned my attention to McGonagall.  
  
"As I was saying before Mr Zabini made his spectacular entrance, this year will be much harder than before," She threw a disapproving look at me. "You will be having a lot more homework, and you will be learning more than you previously have. Hopefully, you will all be able to remember the information and spells once the exams roll around. I will take it personally if you don't pass your exams."  
  
Great, another one who would hunt us down and kill us if we failed. Why didn't they just queue up and have a go at us now instead? It would make things so much simpler.  
  
"This year, you will begin with the more complicated spells, to prepare you for your N.E.W.T's. You will start transfiguring larger things, such as chairs and desks, and you will be given assignments that I expect you to carry out creatively." She smiled quickly, a strange sight on her, "I have the outmost trust in all of you; you will be able to do it."  
  
Well, isn't that nice to know. Why don't you sound a little more sincere next time, you old hag? Scowling to myself, I listened to her long and boring lecture, pretending to be interested. My thoughts were centred on Professor Lucas, though. I still couldn't quite get over the fact that he was going to remove points from me because my book was burned around the edges; I was sure my mother had written to Dumbledore about the fire and that he had informed all teachers of it. It would make sense, after all. But apparently she hadn't, because I was sure Lucas wouldn't have done what he had, had he known about it.  
  
McGonagall's lecture faded into the background of my hearing, and I concentrated on not getting angry in the middle of class for no apparent reason. It was hard, really, considering that my self-control wasn't the best at the present time. It was rather shredded, to tell the truth. If I didn't pull myself together soon, my magic could become unreliable and act up on me. And I'd rather not wake up and find I've turned the room blue with pink polka-dots during the night. It would upset Draco, if nothing else.  
  
"And that would be all for this lesson; remember to read through the first chapter of your books till next time; there will be a small test," McGonagall reminded us, before sending us off either to the next lesson or to dinner.  
  
I got up and filed out of the classroom together with everyone else, and since McGonagall had chosen not to say anything about me being late, I chalked it up as her being a bit more forgiving on the first day, or not remembering that I was a Slytherin or something. Hopefully, I wouldn't lose any points for Slytherin that day. Now, before dinner, I needed to go and tell Snape about Lucas's warning. I had to find out whether he knew about the fire or if my mother hadn't told anyone.  
  
Not many students know where the teacher's lounge is, but I'd learned about it from older Slytherins who had been there one time too many due to detentions. I've never had a bad enough detention to warrant a visit to the other teachers; I just got stuck cleaning cauldrons for Snape once, and of course, the infamous detention with Umbridge, and she never asked the other teachers about what they thought was best, even though she was the most recent addition to the staff. I hated that sorry excuse for a woman.  
  
I knocked on the door and stood back, waiting. I tried not to fidget, to appear nervous, but I failed. Maybe it's some inbred characteristic of students to be nervous when they meet teachers, even when they haven't done anything. I know I always do. The door opened suddenly, startling me so bad that I took a step back before looking up at who it was.  
  
Staring up at me from under steel-grey hair, was my favourite teacher of all time; Hooch. I mean, how could I avoid liking her? She taught flying classes, and was the first one to put me on a broom, ever. I smiled quickly, as however much I liked her, I was not blind to the fact that she had a temper.  
  
"Mr Zabini? Is there any particular reason for your visit?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Yes, is Professor Snape there? I need to see him," I replied.  
  
"He is, wait just a moment," She shut the door in my face, probably not wanting me to see anything inside of the room, but I couldn't help but feel a bit insulted.  
  
I leaned against the opposite wall, and waited silently. Snape always did take his time when he knew it was nothing too serious. I was usually not too bothered by it, but I was hungry now, and if Snape didn't get out right now, so that I could talk to him and go eat, I would break in there and demand they hand over whatever food they had. A bit irrational, but irrational was what I was when I was hungry. Alright, that is a sign I had eaten too little in the past hours; I used the word ´was´ more than twice in one sentence.  
  
Snape got out of the teacher's lounge and was looking mighty annoyed at being disturbed. He spotted me and crossed his arms. This was not looking good; I had hoped to catch him in one of his rare less-than-horrible moods, but apparently I had failed to do so. Better get this done quickly.  
  
"What, Mr Zabini, could be so important that you feel the need to disturb me before you have even had dinner?" Snape asked.  
  
Ouch. My uncle knows me too well.  
  
"I had Defence earlier," I replied, looking for a good way of phrasing it, "And I got told off for bringing my book. Of course, I could understand that, since it's pretty much burned, but I had thought Professor Lucas would know why. Actually, I had though all of you would know."  
  
"Know what, Zabini?" Snape snapped impatiently, "Does this story have a point?"  
  
"Yes," I glared at him, which might not have been a wise move, "It has. My book was almost burned to a crisp because my house burned down two days before term started. I never had time to buy new books, since I was busy with mourning my father, who never got out of the house."  
  
My voice had grown progressively more hoarse and angry towards the end of my speech, and I was glaring at Snape as if it was his fault. Snape blinked, apparently shocked by my admission, and uncrossed his arms. I was just about to give up on him saying anything and go and eat my dinner when he opened his mouth. I concentrated on him again, after having turned my thoughts to food and less disturbing subjects.  
  
"Sebastien is dead?" Snape asked. "How?"  
  
"I told you; he got trapped in a burning house." I was losing my patience. "That tends to be terminal for ones health."  
  
"But how? Why didn't he Apparate out?" Snape was asking irrational questions, not that I could blame him. What puzzled me was why he did it.  
  
"I have no clue; he just didn't, and now he's dead," My eyes were beginning to water, and I hated myself for my lack of self-control. I would not let myself break down in front of Snape, or anyone else for that matter, and I stared off down the corridor, trying to blink back those accursed tears. "Well, I just wanted to know if my mother had written to you at all. I'll go eat now."  
  
I could feel Snape's eyes on my back as I walked, but I didn't dare turn around. If I did, I was sure I would break down, and breaking down was not something I wanted to do now, or ever. As Mother always said, boys don't cry, and I wasn't about to. Not in front of anyone. I didn't even wait for an answer to my question; I needed to think about something else, and right now, I believed in dinner with a conviction more often reserved for religious fanatics.  
  
*****'  
  
For all the greatness of Hogwarts food, it tasted of nothing in my mouth. I stared at my plate for a while, not caring that I was getting strange looks from my fellow students. I could almost hear them whisper to each other; I never left my food untouched, and I always left the table with a clean plate. There was something wrong with me, in their eyes. There was something wrong with me, in my mind. I stared dully at my plate, pushing the food around silently. It was mashed potatoes and sausage, I noted.  
  
Telling Snape, or anyone, about my father's demise was steadily getting harder. In the beginning, it had hurt so much it was agonizing, and I wanted nothing more than for everyone else to feel the same, and so I told them willingly. Now, when I needed to tell someone, I could not get the words out properly. I choked on them, swallowing them up. And I hated myself for it. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't. A bitter smile crossed my face; if nothing else, the screaming would wake the school up from its dazed feeling of security.  
  
Millicent sat next to me, and knowing better than to speak to me when I was in one of my moods, asked nothing of my strange behaviour. She just ate her dinner and kept close to me, if I would snap out of it and wish to talk to her. I appreciated that; she's a good person to have around when you're depressed. She can stop you from committing suicide, if nothing else. She's good at that. Pansy and Draco were sitting further down the table, talking to each other. Apparently, love blinds you so much that you can't even notice your best friends anymore.  
  
I don't blame them for loving each other; they deserve it, more than anyone else I know. But it stings a little that they didn't listen to either me or Millicent any more. I shook of the contemplations of love, as those paths remained unthread by me, and looked over at the Gryffindor table. Looking at the Gryffindor table is a good thing is you wish to be distracted; there's always something happening there, be it food fights or the constant break ups-make ups of the Unholy Trinity. Speaking of which, Potter was looking a bit out of it.  
  
He was paler than normal, and he always looked as if he spent the summer in a cupboard. He was staring blearily down in his food, just as I had been a few moments earlier. Maybe he'd been having nasty dreams or something. Probably of his break-in into the Department of Mysteries. Someone died in there, if you trusted the rumours. Black, some said, while others swore by a random Death Eater. Either way, Potter had been looking like hell when he came back out of the hospital wing, and hadn't even tried to rise to the bait when Draco threatened him. There was something wrong with him as well.  
  
Hell, there was something wrong with everybody. There was something wrong with me; my father was dead, my mother barely looked at me anymore, and I had to spend my summer nights comforting my sister that there was nothing wrong, and lie to her face. Millicent was forced to be someone she wasn't, because her parents couldn't take a daughter that didn't fit the rigid rules of the pureblood society. Pansy's mother wants her to be perfect, even when she fails time and time again. Draco's father wanted him to be cruel and cold, a picture-perfect copy of himself. Potter tried to be the hero, but fell short of it. Weasley, always the side-kick, had given up on trying to do something for himself; he got everywhere by riding on Potter's coat-tails. Granger, while working hard and being smart, would never fit in completely at Hogwarts; she was a Muggleborn, and every pureblood, even the friendly ones, had some degree of dislike for those who weren't fathered by wizards. There was something wrong with the whole damn world.  
  
I pushed my food away and stood up, intent on getting back to the Common Room and get some sleep. Despite a good night's sleep the previous night, I had yet to re-establish a proper sleeping-pattern. I hadn't eaten much, but I wasn't hungry anymore. I hadn't been too hungry to begin with, even though I had been ravenous before talking to Snape.  
  
*****'  
  
The Common Room was quiet. No one was there; everyone was still eating, even Nott, who almost always was present in front of the crackling fire. I collapsed in a chair, too tired to climb the stairs to my dormitory, and stared into the flames. The yellow, red and orange flickered in front of my eyes, and coloured the otherwise dark Common Room a dark shade of red. I tore my gaze away; the crackling fire reminded me too much of the accident. I guess there would be no more late-night studying in the Common Room for me then.  
  
Large banners with the green and silver snake of Slytherin on them were hung across the walls. When I was younger, in first year, I used to spend my evenings trying to figure out how they were made; they're big enough to cover the floor of the Great Hall, and even then, you'll only need about three of them. Even though our Common Room is located in the dungeons, and it is damn cold there in the winter, it's cosy, in a Slytherin kind of way. I have no clue about how the other House's Common Rooms look, but I've heard how people talk about ours; they all honestly believe that we have a torture chamber down there, with spikes and iron maidens and whatnot. Stupidity has ceased to amaze me, at least for now. One never knows what might happen tomorrow.  
  
No, tomorrow might be wildly different. In my case, I hoped it would be. I played idly with my shirt-sleeve, wondering of the soot-stains would ever go out. They probably would if I washed it, but they would always be there, in a sense. Kind of like a scar, which remained long years after the wound, the stains would never go out, not in my mind. I lost myself in thoughts, in insane ramblings, which I often did.  
  
I could have been sitting there for hours; I had lost track of time and space, when Millicent sat down beside me. She didn't say anything; she just waited. She's good at waiting too. I've seen her sit for hours, staring at the water when we've gone fishing, not moving and scarcely even breathing. When there's a role-call for the champion waiting-experts of the world, she won't even show up. She'd be waiting for them to come to her.  
  
"He said I wasn't allowed to bring my book to class anymore," I said, referring to Professor Lucas. Millicent nodded her head, urging me to go on. "Said I had to bring sufficient material. I was so angry then I could have strangled him. I didn't tell him though. Mother didn't write them, so they don't know. I told Snape though, so he'll probably tell the other teachers. I'll need to go to Hogsmeade and buy the other books soon; there's no way they'll let me come to class without any books at all."  
  
"Do you know when the next Hogsmeade weekend is?"  
  
"No," I shook my head, "I don't. There's no notice on the board either. But if I ask them to, I might even get to go there beforehand. And if not that, I can probably send money with a teacher who can buy them for me. It doesn't really matter anymore."  
  
It doesn't really matter anymore. It didn't. Books were just details; what mattered was getting through. I wanted to be able to sleep without seeing the flames before my eyes. I wanted to close my eyes and not see my father's smile in my mind. I wanted to breathe without choking on smoke and soot. I wanted to forget. I shook my head; I didn't want to think anymore. I kept my eyes on the carpet, not daring to look at the fire, not daring to look Millicent in the eye, in fear of breaking down. Damn it, I didn't need this right now! I didn't need it, period.  
  
"Go to bed, Blaise. You need to sleep." Millicent advised me, "I'll see you in the morning."  
  
I nodded goodnight to her, and headed up the stairs. I dodged the creaking step, and opened the door to our dormitory, too distracted to care that I was walking straight through Crabbe's dirty laundry. I stumbled, but kept going. I needed to brush my teeth before going to bed; otherwise I'd wake up feeling like I'd slept with a mouthful of cotton. I hated that feeling.  
  
Bathroom lighting is always too intense, and the bathrooms at Hogwarts were no different; I could see every line on my face, despite the fact that I was much too young to have lines. It made me look old. I brushed my teeth slowly, not having the energy to put into doing it any faster, and stared at my reflection. I had been doing that a lot lately; staring, that is. Maybe it was an after effect of sleep deprivation. I knew lack of focus was one of them, at least. I finished brushing my teeth and left the bathroom again.  
  
I had undressed, gotten under the covers and prepared to sleep when I discovered I wasn't even close to tired. I spent the next few hours staring up into the ceiling. I could not sleep, no matter how I tried; I closed my eyes, only to open them again, even though I didn't want to. Even when I managed to keep my eyes shut, my mind was entirely, completely and annoyingly awake. It raced across a million different topics, none of them interesting and none of them important. Most of them didn't even have something to do with my present situation. It was horribly annoying.  
  
I heard Draco come in and settle in his bed. I glanced at the clock on my nightstand; a quarter to ten, around the time when I would still be down in the Common Room studying normally. Another hour passed and Crabbe and Goyle came along as well. I still could not get any sleep. Of course, I wouldn't be sleeping around this time normally either, but seeing as I had gotten very little sleep the previous night and none the two nights before that, I should at least have been a little tired. But I wasn't.  
  
Another hour. And another. Soon, it was three in the morning, and I still hadn't slept. I gave up. I simply couldn't lie down anymore doing nothing, so I got up. I wandered over to the window and sat on the window sill. It wasn't as if there was anything else to do in the middle of the bloody night when one could not sleep. I could have gone out in the corridors and looked for curfew-breaking Gryffindors, but it didn't feel like I'd have any luck with that. Besides, who knew what happened to the corridors at three in the morning; there'd been rumours about rooms and changed places and the ghosts having balls. Not to mention the rooms covered in fussy cloth and the swirling patterns on the carpets. Hogwarts was a strange place, and even more so at night.  
  
The grounds were empty, so there wasn't much to look at, except the Thestrals who flew up above the forest every once in a while. They hovered for a while in the moonlight, before disappearing between the treetops again. I was bored. Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored. I was so bored that I was spending my time at three in the morning, watching grass grow. If it was possible for me to be any more bored, I didn't want to see it. My brain was dribbling out of my ears in boredom as it was.  
  
I spent the rest of the night counting stars and naming trees, not getting any sleep at all. I managed to name at least twenty trees, before giving up on it as hopeless, and concentrated fully on counting stars. I got to ten thousand three hundred and twenty nine before dawn. I had a head for mathematics. Though I'm sure I counted every star twice before I was done.  
  
******'  
  
Ending Notes; four chapters, and I've just finished the first day of school. Jeez, I'm going to be sitting here in ten years, still writing, because I'm not even going to be finished with the second part. I'm on over my head, but damn, I'm having fun. 


	5. The Thestral Room

hello You have to be insane to try to go to attend lessons after having been awake for no less than twenty-six hours. In a row. And considering I spent four of those hours sitting on a bleeding windowsill, my back hurt like hell. The star-count was up to something close to eleven thousand before I got side-tracked and lost count. At times like these, coffee was the gift of the gods. It was every other morning as well; it was just that this morning, I wouldn't have made it down the stairs without it.  
  
I inspected the surface of the Slytherin table very closely, as my forehead was resting against it. I was much too tired to lift it up again and just clutched at my coffee-cup like a madman. I actually snarled anyone who dared to get closer to me than two feet. There weren't many who did, but when they had once made that mistake, they did not do it again. I think I sent three of them to the hospital wing with broken fingers. I didn't mean to be so violent, but they were looking at my coffee as if they wanted it for themselves, and I'm very protective of my coffee. Very protective.  
  
I had an early class, being Charms, though it was the only class I had before lunch, and after lunch I only had once as well; Defence. They had to space out our lessons so that we didn't finish earlier than intended. Too bad; if they hadn't done that, and packed our days full, we would be stressed as hell, but we'd finish school a year earlier. Maybe they didn't want us keeling over from exhaustion. Hell, maybe they liked us to much that they wanted to keep us one more year. That theory was even plausible in some cases. Not mine though. They all either disliked me or forgot me.  
  
"Blaise, if you don't get your head off the table, you're going to have a dent in your scull soon," Draco commented, sitting down next to me, "How much coffee have you had?"  
  
"Three cups." I mumbled back, not lifting my head.  
  
"And you still can't sit up straight? Blaise, what did you do last night?" Draco chuckled, apparently amused at the innuendo he managed to put in his words.  
  
"I counted stars, Draco, because I was so unbelievably bored out of my wits." I replied, "I have not slept in twenty-six hours. Do not annoy me, or they will be finding bits of you in ten years time. Hand me the coffee. Now."  
  
He did as I ordered, and handed me the coffee pot. Once I was out of Hogwarts, I was going to form a House-Elf Appreciation Society, and praise them for their coffee. Wonderful, awakening coffee that was the only thing that could ever get me through the day. Ever. I wouldn't even make it to luncheon without coffee, and anyone who came between me and my coffee would receive a true Slytherin revenge. A stab in the back. With a dull knife.  
  
I managed to get my head off of the table after the fourth cup, but judging from the look of my fellow student's eyes, I resembled a zombie. Or Jack Skellington. I hadn't dared to look in the mirror that morning, so I had no idea myself. Pansy and Draco were being sugar-sickness-inducing cute again, and Millicent was busy with her own breakfast, so I stared distractedly at the other tables instead. Ravenclaws were chatting with each other, or watching the chess-game between their House-champions MacDougal and Turpin, which was getting pretty heated. It looked like Turpin was about to win. She was damn good at chess, Muggle or Wizard. I'd played against her once, but I lost, and I'm good at it. Playing, that is.  
  
Hufflepuffs were just generally chatting, though it looked like there was a minor fight brewing between a girl with pigtails and Bones. It didn't look too serious though. More like a minor setback. Everyone pre-Hogwarts, and everyone who has long since graduated from school and doesn't remember too clearly anymore, and most Gryffindors, believe that Hufflepuffs are slow, constantly loyal and never get into fights. They don't know how wrong they are. If they'd only look every once in a while, they'd notice that Hufflepuffs fight as much as everyone. They've just learned to do it quietly.  
  
Gryffindors. As always, the most annoyingly awake and cheery people, even at this time of the day. Food-fights were common at their table, but not even they dared to start one on the second day at breakfast, no less. The Trinity seemed to be having a whispered fight; those were usual. They went the same way each time; Granger would come up with something and say it, and then Weasley would snap at her, because he's stupid and angry that he didn't come up with it first, and then Potter would try to calm them down, and they'd turn on him and then he'd get angry. All of it never spoken above a whisper, to avoid attention from the rest of the House. Pretty clever way of not getting attention, but I wish they'd keep their rows outside the Great Hall.  
  
The High Table was never filled at this time of day, but there were a few teachers there; Sprout, for example, and Sinistra. The Muggle Studies teacher, whatever his name is. I never took Muggle Studies, so I never bothered to learn. He looks odd, kind of like someone put in the wrong place and not realising it. I mean, he wears a top hat on all occasions. Strange fellow. I sipped the last of my fourth cup, before deciding I might as well be early to Charms for once, and got up. I nodded goodbye to my friends, and headed out.  
  
Professor Flitwick is one of my favourite teachers; he's the Head of Ravenclaw, but he has no sign of favouring his own House at all. He's fair. He's also small and easy to fool, in some people's eyes. I used to believe that he was the dimmest teacher at Hogwarts, but boy, did I learn better than that. In third year, when I had been pranking a Ravenclaw, and thought I'd gotten away with it, he managed to catch me red-handed, based on nothing but how suspicious I looked when I was sitting in front of him in class. I'll never underestimate Flitwick again. Ever.  
  
I reached the Charms classroom a little worse for wear; Peeves had thought it a good idea to dive-bomb me with mud-cakes he'd made himself. I'd gotten away from most of it, but one had hit me on the shoulder with a resounding splat, and now I had a hastily drying mud-stain on my robes. Well, at least the day was going better than yesterday; by this time then, I was lying on the floor with my nose squashed. I pushed the door to the classroom open and stepped inside, brushing at the stain without any major effect. Flitwick was standing on his chair and his book and was writing on the blackboard. He turned around when I entered and smiled at me.  
  
"Ah, good morning, Mr Zabini!" He chirped. Always cheerful, that one. "How are you this fine morning?"  
  
"Better than yesterday, but not as good as I could be," I replied cryptically and sat down in my seat, "Peeves decided he was bored and threw mud at me."  
  
"One day, we will have to do something about that poltergeist," Flitwick shook his head. "Now, what brings you here this early? The lesson doesn't start in half an hour."  
  
"I wanted to be early for once, I guess." I shrugged, "And I wanted to talk to you; I don't have a textbook for Charms. Due to an unfortunate accident before term started, it was destroyed."  
  
"Oh, that's too bad," Flitwick looked worried, "I'm afraid you'll have to share a book with one of your friends until you can buy yourself a new one. What happened to it?"  
  
"It burned." I stared at my desk.  
  
And that was all the conversation we had until class started. I tried to get the mud off my robes, but failed miserably. Not that it would make any difference in my appearance; I was ugly enough without it. Millicent came in and sat down next to me. She had gotten a good grade in Charms, and as far as I could understand, she was taking Potions, Defence, Charms and, oddly enough, Herbology. Not a Slytherin subject, normally, but I guessed she just enjoyed being away from all Gryffindors but Longbottom, and even he couldn't screw up Herbology.  
  
"'Lo there Millie. Mind if I share your book?" I asked.  
  
"Nope, not at all. Here, why don't you take my quill while you're at it?" She grinned.  
  
"Don't mind if I do," I mumbled, and turned my attention to Flitwick again.  
  
I was amazed I managed to keep my eyes open through the whole lesson, but then again, the sizzling energy of caffeine was burning through my veins, making me sit up straight and awake, even though I wanted nothing more than to curl up and go to sleep. My eyes burned, but I stayed awake. Due to the excellent coffee at Hogwarts, I was also able to hear everyone and everything due to my constant waking. I fear I'm not making much sense but after twenty-seven hours and four cups of coffee, no one makes much sense.  
  
They were whispering behind me. I concentrated on them for a moment, and realised it was Weasley and Potter whispering. Granger was sitting in front of them, just to the side of me, and was staring straight ahead, apparently intent on not noticing. As if she couldn't hear them. Stupid; she should learn how to look innocent; it'd help her a lot when dealing with Weasley and Potter. They were still whispering; it sounded like Weasley was trying to convince Potter of something, though I couldn't hear what it was. Apparently Potter was being exceptionally pig-headed. Slowly but surely, their whispering was getting on my nerves.  
  
After five minutes or so of whispered conversation behind me, I leaned over to Granger, who leaned out of the way with a horrified look on her face. Can't blame her really; I must've looked like a zombie with bad breath. I certainly felt like one.  
  
"Granger, I know you hate me and all," I started quietly, as to not disturb Flitwick, "But your little friends have been driving me up the wall with their chit-chat. I would appreciate if you could rein them in again."  
  
"Zabini, if you don't shut your mouth and get back to work, I am going to hex you," Granger told me levelly without raising her eyes from the book, "Harry and Ron are individuals, despite what you might think, and I can't ´rein them in´, as you call it."  
  
"You mean you three aren't attached at the hip?" I mumbled, though only to myself, as I leaned back into my seat again. So much for getting some peace and quiet. Bloody cheeky Gryffindors.  
  
I spent the rest of the lesson alternating between listening to the lecture and reading, and flicking pieces of parchment at Potter and Weasley, who was conveniently located behind me and slightly to the left, so I could throw things at them without being noticed. I managed to score a hit on Weasley's forehead, and one on Potter's glasses, without being noticed. I'm pretty sure Flitwick saw me, but since I wasn't disrupting the lesson, he didn't say anything. Yet another teacher loyal to my cause; to annoy the Gryffindors. And do so without losing points or getting detention. I was getting pretty good at it ever since I started in fourth year. It was only lately that I'd started going after the more important ones, like Potter.  
  
I was surprised when the lesson ended; I'd been so caught up in throwing parchment that I hadn't even noticed. I stood up and walked out the door immediately, as I had no things to bring with me. Millicent headed after me, and after a quick goodbye, she descended the stairs to the dungeons; Potions was coming up for her. I now had one free hour before lunch, and then I had one free hour after lunch, before Defence. A lot of time to kill. I dug my hands into my pockets and wandered off, vaguely in the direction of the Great Hall. There were a lot of places in the castle that I hadn't seen yet, so I might as well take my time and explore some before heading to lunch.  
  
*******'  
  
Perfect. Just bloody perfect. I had fifteen minutes to go before I had to be in the Defence classroom, and I was stuck in some room filled with paintings, where the door was currently pretending to be a wall. I had long since thrown my hands up and surrendered, and was currently sitting on the floor with my back against the wall. There was a painting on the opposite wall, of a pack or flock of Thestrals, who were flying above what looked to be the Forbidden Forest. Unlike all magical pictures, this one didn't move. Most of the paintings on the walls were asleep, and the few who were awake only sneered at me and left. One frame, just to the side of the Thestral mural, had been empty since I arrived.  
  
I was bored. Just about as bored as I had been last night when I had resorted to counting stars. From the looks of the situation, I was going to be late to my second-ever Defence lesson for a teacher who already disliked me due to my lack of decent books. Perfect. Bloody perfect with a cherry on top. Not only was the caffeine doing things to my mind, I was also stuck in a room without any chance to get out. With my luck, I was going to develop a severe case of claustrophobia in only a few minutes. Why had I chosen to go exploring when I knew I'd end up like this? Well, there was nothing for it but to wait until the door decided to show up again.  
  
I picked on a loose thread of my shirt, trying to pass the time. I was in more trouble than I really anted to think about right now, and pulled out my Defence book. Or rather, I tried to, until I realised I'd forgotten it in my dormitory. I snorted; this day was turning out to be one for the books. Forgotten books, trap-doors that weren't there when you needed them, four cups of coffee and soon thirty hours since I'd had any sleep. Whoever said sixth year was easy deserved to be shot. Preferably where it hurt. And where they could survive to live through that pain.  
  
"What are you doing here?" A sharp voice asked suddenly, breaking him out of his meandering thoughts. "This is a restricted room."  
  
"I got lost," I replied, looking in the direction the voice came from. It turned out to be the picture-frame that had been empty when I arrived. Now it was filled by someone I vaguely recognised; I'd seen him somewhere before, but I couldn't remember where. He looked almost royal. "And the room refuses to let me out again. I have approximately fourteen minutes before my next lesson starts, and during those fourteen minutes, I have to get out, get down to the Common Room, get my book and get back to the classroom."  
  
"You look too old to ´get lost´", The portrait replied, looking at me, "What, pray tell, were you doing in this part of the castle? And why are you breaking the dress code?"  
  
"I was walking," I said, annoyed with the snobbish tone in the painting's voice, "And not thinking. I'm breaking dress-code just because I can. Is there any way out of here?"  
  
"Yes. But only if you want to see it." The painting replied, before giving me a nasty smile and disappearing from the frame.  
  
"Hey come back!" I shouted, "How do I get out?"  
  
"You can't get out, not unless you really want to." He reappeared, "And then you have to be careful so you don't end up outside the castle altogether. It moves around. A tricky room this is."  
  
And then he disappeared. He just upped and went, leaving me alone in a room full of snoring paintings. And I now had, I glanced at my watch, twelve minutes to get out, get my book and get to the lesson. Glaring at the empty frame and muttering curse words to myself, I got up off the floor. I pulled out my wand, and started poking at the walls with it, looking for where the door had to be. I moved around the room, keeping in mind that my time was running out, looking for that damned door and not finding it. It took me three minutes to move around the whole room, and well aware that I had only nine minutes left, I turned back to the empty frame.  
  
There had to be a way out of here. My wand had scraped across every available stone in the room, and not yet found the door. He'd said I could only get out if I really wanted to, but I did. I didn't want to be late for my lesson, and if I was stuck here forever, I'd never see my friends again. So, I wanted to get out, but there wasn't a door in sight. I'd gotten in through a door, so there had to be one. It just didn't show. But it had to be there. I'd gone over all walls of the oval room...Except the Thestral painting. I turned to it quickly, and began running my hands across it, looking for some small crack in it, or a place where the wall disappeared.  
  
My fingers closed around a small, thin crack in the mural, and I bent it open agonizingly slowly. I sent a silent thank you to the portrait and his cryptic advice as I saw the corridor in front of me again. I stepped outside before the door had time to disappear again, and breathed a sigh of relief. I was out. Now for the Defence lesson. I glanced at my watch; I had seven minutes now, and if I was quick, I just might make it only five minutes late. I set off in a sprint down the hall, heading for the Common Room. Hopefully, Professor Lucas wouldn't behead me if I was late. He looked the type to do that.  
  
I rushed head-first into our Common Room, startling the poor second-years who were having a free hour, and climbed the stairs quicker than I'd ever climbed them before. I snatched my poorly abused book and rushed downstairs again, past the still horrified second-years and out the door. Five minutes left. I skidded around a corner in the hallway, nearly running straight into the wall, and started on the stairs up to the Defence classroom.  
  
Another corner, another flight of stairs. A long hallway full of fourth- years who jumped out of my way like frightened rabbits. Flitwick, who was carrying a stack of parchment, narrowly avoided being knocked over when I ran past. I could hear him laughing as I turned yet another corner. Two minutes left. Panic decided to make a visit. I took the last flight of stairs three at the time, hoping against all reason that I'd get there before Lucas did.  
  
One minute left; I could see the classroom door, but I could also see Lucas right outside it - he was carrying a stack of parchment which I guessed was a test for us. I sped up as much as I could with my already pained legs, and reached the door just as Lucas put his hand on the door handle. He looked up and jumped out of the way as I nearly crashed into him and stumbled to a stop. Damn, my lungs hurt; I'd run across half the castle, or so it felt, in seven minutes. I leaned against the wall, supporting myself with an elbow, breathing harshly. Lucas was just standing there, watching me with an eyebrow raised.  
  
"Do you plot to kill me, or were you just having trouble slowing down?" He asked after a moment or so; I'd lost all concepts of time as I concentrated on breathing.  
  
"Slowing...down," I replied, catching my breath for a second, before launching into a coughing fit.  
  
"Very well then," He opened the door, "As soon as you manage to breathe normally again, you are welcome to sit down."  
  
I make my way into the classroom after him. Blood pounding through my ears was making me a bit dizzy, and I stared out over the students dumbly for a moment, before discovering that Padma Patil was already sitting next to Millicent, so I was left with the seat next to Justin-of-the-long-surname. I collapsed on the chair and tried to catch my breath again. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, attempting to breathe normally, but failing. I glanced at my clock again; the lesson was starting just on time, and I had made it. I could hardly believe it. I'd run like a madman across most of the castle, in seven minutes.  
  
From the Slytherin Common Room to the Defence classroom, it was about six flights of stairs, two of them long ones, and four hallways, at normal length, which meant about three kilometres, just from the Common Room to the classroom. Before that, I'd run from the Thestral room to the Common Room, and that was about half a kilometre. Let's say four kilometres to be even. In seven minutes. I'm a freak. An utter freak. Lucas said something, and I came back to the present.  
  
"You were given homework last time." He said, staring with his freakish eyes at us again, "Now you will be given a parchment to write on. I am sure you all remember the phrase from last time; you are to write down what it means to you. Before you protest, no, this is not a pointless assignment; as soon as you are done, I will explain it."  
  
I raised my eyebrow; what did that phrase have to do with Defence? Of course, I didn't ask, partly because he said he'd explain it, and partly because I knew better than to question his knowledge of the subject. I merely accepted the parchment when he handed it to me, and pulled out my quill. "I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright, who art black as hell and dark as night". That was what he'd written. What could it possibly mean, aside from the obvious? And what did it have to do with Defence?  
  
My breathing now back to normal, I scribbled down my seemingly random thoughts on the parchment I'd been handed. It had to have something to do with Defence; else there was no reason for him to waste our time on it. Well, Defence dealt mostly with Dark Creatures and curses, which were pretty dark and gory by themselves. But most of the curses, at least, didn't appear to be dark at first sight, and who would think that a Kappa was a Dark Creature? It looked like a scaly monkey, for crying out loud. Scribbling randomly, I ignored the rest of the classroom.  
  
The coffee must have seriously influenced my writing, and I had no idea what I wrote, but I managed to fill a whole page. Who knows if it was a whole page on a carefully thought-out theory on why the colour of the Slytherin Common Room was green and silver and for some odd reason, black. Who knows, and who cares? It wasn't as if my grade depended on it; if it did, Lucas would have told us.  
  
"Time is up; hand in your parchment," He said, "And I will explain this."  
  
One of the Hufflepuffs, I forget her name, gathered all of our little essays, and handed them in quickly, before sitting down again. Lucas stacked them up in front of him, and waved his wand quickly, making the phrase re-appear on the blackboard.  
  
"This might seem like an unimportant poem to you," He began, "But it is, in fact, important to what you will learn during this year. It refers to the dangers of the Dark Arts. While many of the curses might seem innocent, and many of the creatures are more or less harmless, that does not change the fact that they are Dark Creatures and curses. They will kill you when you turn your back, no matter how much they smile when you look at them. You will not only learn how to defend yourself from these things; you will learn their ways. Your exam this year will be more difficult than anything you have ever faced, and yes, Mr Potter, that includes you too."  
  
I raised my eyebrow and looked from Lucas to Potter, who was sitting in the front row like a good little boy. He seemed to be sputtering, although with my lack of sanity due to sleep deprivation and the seat I was sitting in, I couldn't be sure. Funny; I never imagined that there would be a Defence exam hard enough to give Potter trouble. I mean, I dislike him greatly, and would like to see him fail an exam, but with Defence, that would be difficult to achieve. Mocking Voldemort once a year was not something for the weak-hearted.  
  
"I will not reveal any details as of yet, since I have not ascertained that you will be allowed to take the exam I have planned for you, but I can assure you that everyone, no matter what might have happened in earlier years, will have difficulties with the exam. Trained Aurors would," He added, almost as an afterthought.  
  
I raised my hand again, despite evidence that this action had gotten me in trouble earlier. Lucas nodded at me, and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against his desk.  
  
"Mr Zabini?"  
  
"If trained Aurors would have trouble with the exam," I said, "Why would you let a bunch of sixteen-year-olds do it? I mean, aside from Potter, Weasley and Granger, none of us have ever faced anything worse than Draco in a bad mood. Not that that is altogether harmless, mind you."  
  
"Well," Lucas looked at me thoughtfully, "As I know you are aware, there is a war brewing. I do not know which side you will be fighting on, but I refuse to be responsible for your deaths, no matter which way you choose. If you get through the exam with reasonably good results, you will at least have a chance."  
  
I blinked, but nodded. That was the first time any adult had ever mentioned the war, at least within my hearing range. Dumbledore had talked about Voldemort coming back, but never outright about the war. Lucas reasoning was logical though, if a bit Gryffindor. Not that I blame him; I wouldn't want to be responsible for anyone's death either, even if they happened to be Gryffindors. I could live with that explanation, even though it made me horribly curious about our exams. I listened to the rest of his lecture only paying half of the attention I should have. Partly due to my intense lack of sleep, and partly because his explanation had sparked my curiosity, which once lit never let go. Life should get pretty interesting, come exam time.  
  
I looked around at the others, wondering how they took the news. Justin of the long surname looked frightened, but determined. Most of the Hufflepuffs did; Bones looked almost angry. The Ravenclaw Patil's shaking hands, to Boot's quiet terror. But Potter was the worst; he looked almost nauseous with terror, and he was clutching his wand till his knuckles turned white. Not that I blamed him or anything; having to shoulder defeating the Dark Lord had to be pretty frightening. I shook my head; well, at least they knew enough to be afraid. I could only imagine what the younger students would do; they would probably jump at any chance to win glory in the war. Stupid brats.  
  
********'  
  
Ending Notes; I apologise sincerely if there is any incoherence in this; it was written under the influence of sleep deprivation and inspiration, which did not want to let go in the slightest. 


	6. Falling Down the Stairs

I stood up, preparing to leave together with Millicent and the others to go and eat dinner and maybe get some sleep, but I didn't even get to the door before Lucas called out to me. Once again, I was in trouble. I had to learn not to ask questions in his class, since it seemed that that was why he singled me out. I threw an apologetic glance at Millicent, who rolled her eyes, but nodded. I turned and walked back into the classroom.  
  
"Do sit down, Mr Zabini." Lucas nodded  
  
I collapsed into a nearby chair once more, rubbing my eyes. Thirty-one hours now. The energy-kick the coffee had given me was starting to wear thin, and I could feel the fatigue come creeping up on me again. Hopefully, he'd just yell at me and let me go, so I could get some food and a lot of sleep.  
  
"What was it?" I mumbled, trying to bite back a yawn, and just barely succeeding.  
  
"Would you like to tell me the reason as to why you attempted to knock me off my feet earlier?" Lucas was smiling. A smiling Professor Lucas was nearly as frightening as imagining Snape in a pink dress.  
  
"I had a problem with slowing down," I replied, sinking lower in my seat. It looked like this was going to take a while, after all, "After running head-long up the stairs. And the corridor, and the stair before that, and the one before that too."  
  
"Why were you running head-long through the hallways, then?"  
  
"Because I was running late; I had seven minutes to pick up my book and run across half the castle." I shrugged the best I could in my sitting position, "And I was sure you'd have my head if I was late. You weren't exactly happy with me yesterday."  
  
"Yes, about the book," Lucas didn't look too happy with me, "I was informed in no uncertain terms by Professor Snape that you would be allowed to keep the book. Do you wish to tell me why he ordered me to do this?"  
  
"No, I don't. May I go now?" I didn't want to start a fight with my teacher when I was sleep deprived and hungrier than a ravenous wolf.  
  
"Yes," But he followed me out with his eyes.  
  
I could tell he wasn't happy with my close-mouthed ness, and to tell the truth, neither was I. I didn't want to be secretive, but the less people who knew, the less people who would treat me like I was made of glass. If he wanted, needed to know, he could ask Snape about it. Nosy teachers weren't high up on my list of favourite things - at the moment, coffee held the top spot, closely followed by mornings when I was allowed to sleep in. Now, I had to get down the stairs all the way to the Great Hall without falling to pieces. Damn, I was hungry.  
  
I stumbled down the stairs, clutching at the banister and trying not to fall head-first and break my sorry neck. My brain wasn't what it could be, and my sense of balance had taken a one-way ticket to Bahamas. My head was swimming, and nausea hit me in waves. I shouldn't have missed lunch when I'd only had coffee for breakfast. Where was Millicent? She would have waited for me, unless something happened. I reached the bottom of the first set of stairs, and wobbled away through the corridor. Lack of food and sleep really does affect your body and mind severely. My knees were shaking, as were my hands, and I couldn't see straight. May the devil take whoever built the Thestral- room.  
  
I rounded a corner, clutching at the wall, and narrowly avoided crashing straight into someone going the other way. At first, I thought it was Millicent, but then my brain told me that Millicent was much larger than that, and had black hair. I tried to focus my eyes, and was supplied with the most unwelcome sight in the history of mankind; Granger, clutching at her books and glaring at me. I sneered at her; of all people it had to be her.  
  
"Watch where you're going, Zabini," She snapped angrily.  
  
"For the sake of all things you Muggleborns believe holy, Granger, I wasn't aiming to knock you over, was I?" I snapped back, "Have you seen Millie?"  
  
"Bulstrode?" I forced myself not to roll my eyes at her; there weren't many other Millicent's in the school that I would want to get a hold of. In fact, I could only come up with one other; a third year Ravenclaw that I'd seen in a corridor once, "She headed to the hospital wing after the lesson; said something about seeing some other Slytherins. Was there anything else?"  
  
She didn't wait for an answer and stormed past me, managing to push me into the wall on the way. I closed my eyes as my head hit the stone, and I saw stars for a second before recovering again. I opened my eyes and closed them again, wincing. There was no way I would make it to the Great Hall in this condition, on my own. I turned around, still shaking and clutching the wall, looking for someone to help me. Granger hadn't gotten far; she was standing just at the end of the corridor, looking at some scrap of paper in her hand.  
  
"Granger!" I called.  
  
She spun around, wand out, clearly expecting me to hex her or something. When she saw that I was looking like a drunken racoon, hanging on to the wall to save my life, she lowered her wand and began walking towards me. Apparently I wasn't as frightening to her as I'd imagined I'd been. Too bad; it would have been nice to be able to frighten a Gryffindor. Of course, I should have known I couldn't do that for long; those boneheads weren't even afraid of Voldemort, or so it seemed.  
  
"What is it? What else do you want? I've got to go to Muggle Studies." She said as she came closer. "And if I'm late, I'll know who to blame."  
  
"Granger, can you for once forget about your bloody lessons, and help someone?" I must have sounded pathetic; like a pleading slave, "I need to get down to the Great Hall, and if I try to walk there myself, I'll fall down the stairs and crack my scull open. Now, since Millie's in the hospital wing, fawning over Gaspar for all I know, could you find it in your Gryffindor heart to help me there?"  
  
I tried to look as innocent as possible when I could barely keep my eyes open, and my fingers were starting to hurt from clinging to the wall for so long. Sighing, Granger shoved her wand back in her pocket and adjusted her book-bag on her shoulders. I didn't whoop and dance around because firstly, it would be so far out of character for me that it would be ridiculous, and secondly, I feared I would pass out if I did. She was going to help me! This was going to go down in the Slytherin history book as the greatest achievement of our time. I'd gotten a member of the infamous Trinity to help me.  
  
"Alright, I'll help you, but only because I don't want to be blamed if you fall down the stairs and break your neck," She told me.  
  
"I wasn't asking for compassion here, Granger." I smirked, or attempted to, "I just need a bit of help."  
  
It was awkward; I was taller than her by at least a head, if not more, but we managed somehow. With one arm across her shoulders and the other on the wall, I made my way down the hallway, trying not to stumble over my own feet. That was definitely harder than it sounded. Granger kept muttering under her breath about clumsy Slytherins and Muggle Studies, but I ignored her. She'd volunteered to help me, even though she didn't have too; she'd only her self to blame.  
  
The stairs were the hardest part; I swear I stumbled over my own feet more times than I can count, and was close to falling several times, but Granger managed to keep me upright. I've got to give her that; she does what she sets out to do, even if it is helping an impossibly rude Slytherin down the stairs. It wasn't as if I'd ever helped her. After six years in the same year as her though, I knew she'd demand I do something for her when we'd gotten down to the Great Hall.  
  
The last few steps seemed like impossibility, but I managed, and clutched onto the doorframe. Granger let go of me slowly, as if she was afraid I'd fall down and whimper like some basket case. I raised my hand and held it out to her, and she took it hesitantly, the years of Slytherin-resent still haunting her. It would take more than one situation of politeness to get her over that snag.  
  
"Thanks, Granger," I said, "Now, I've got to get something to eat before I pass out. You've got a lesson to get to."  
  
"Yes." She nodded as she shook my hand, "I have. Don't go wandering alone in the corridors again Zabini, at least not when you're in this condition."  
  
"I won't," I promised, and I didn't intend to.  
  
She nodded quickly, before turning on her heel and leaving, climbing the stairs we'd just come down. I couldn't keep myself from grinning. I'd managed a civil conversation with Granger. Maybe this unity thing Dumbledore had been rambling about last year wasn't as impossible as it seemed. Now it was only the various students with Death Eater ambitions that were a problem.  
  
I walked through the door and made my way to the Slytherin table with some semblance of dignity. There were many students there, even though some were still having lessons; the sixth and seventh year's eating schedule was a bit more flexible than the younger year's. I sat down next to the first year I'd noticed at the Sorting Ceremony; Cain. He was nibbling at his food silently, and looking very much frightened. Two days into his first year at Hogwarts, and still afraid. I could understand; back in my first year, I'd been a small, runty thing, and with classmates like Crabbe and Goyle, I was afraid of physical harm. And Cain was small; he looked much too small to be eleven. But then again, so did my sister.  
  
"Hello there, Cain," I greeted him as I sat down, "How's Hogwarts been treating you?"  
  
Gosh, he looked frightened when his head snapped around. He nearly dropped his food and started shaking. I tried to hide my own hands under the table, and attempted a reassuring smile directed at him. Unfortunately, the lack of fright I'd inspired in Granger didn't seem to work with Cain, who looked even more afraid.  
  
"A-alright s-sir." He stammered fearfully.  
  
"Sir?" I snorted with laughter, "Aye, now I've heard everything. Sir, indeed. You call me Blaise; sir will only make me look around to see who you're talking to. How's your classes?"  
  
"Good," Cain seemed to be gaining a bit more confidence now that I'd laughed and proved myself as not as dangerous as I looked, "But Professor Lucas is scary."  
  
"That he is," I wrinkled my nose, and piled some shepherd's pie onto my plate, "Did he pull the invisibility trick on you too?"  
  
"No," Cain shook his head, "I saw him the whole time, well, not the whole time, but I saw him before the others. They were surprised though."  
  
I chewed on my food thoughtfully, wondering exactly how the rest of the year would be like, with a teacher like Lucas. He didn't seem to be altogether on anyone's side, but no one was altogether on his side either. He seemed to be standing in the middle of a brewing war, and not even trying to bend to the wind. A strange man, that he was, but I couldn't figure out just what was odd about him. Other than his eyes and his most peculiar way of keeping his hair; no one, not even the most pureblooded boys, kept their hair that long. Malfoy senior had, but he'd always been vain and long hair would make him stand out. Stupid oaf.  
  
"I can imagine. I'm not sure what to think about him; he doesn't like me though, I know that," I nodded, continuing the conversation. No one else seemed to be talking to Cain anyway, so I might as well, "But I've only had two lessons with him, and I haven't been completely awake for either of them." I grinned, "Too much coffee and too little sleep, I guess. Why aren't you sitting with the rest of the first years?"  
  
Cain looked down in his plate, not even glancing at his classmates. I looked over at the little group. There was Crabbe's brother, I forget his first name, and a girl who looked like she was related to Augustus Rookwood. Bletchley's sister, Higgs' little brother, and Gaspar's cousin, I think his name's Corrin. Some others I didn't recognise, but who had the air of pureblood aristocracy about them, something Cain didn't. Angevine wasn't a name I recognised; as all purebloods of any reckon were interrelated, that was an odd occurrence. He must be one of the few Slytherins who could only count his family a few generations back.  
  
"They don't like me," He was almost whispering, "They think I'm not worth talking to; my parents aren't good enough."  
  
"Indoctrinated little idiots," I muttered, "Don't listen to them; half of them aren't bright enough to turn a stone without overheating their brains. Corrin Montague's got a brain on him, but I don't know how he uses it. Rookwood, that's her name right? Well, she's smart, that I know from Millicent. But it's peer-pressure; it's always the worst in Slytherin. In any of the other Houses, you'd be allowed to be whoever you want, and they wouldn't care much about your parents, but Slytherin has always been different. Too bad they're too blind to look outside tradition. You'll do well here in Slytherin, Cain, no matter what they say. The Hat wouldn't have put you here otherwise."  
  
The little boy flushed with pride, and gave me a small smile. I grinned back at him, and winked, before flicking a pea at Crabbe's brother. It landed in his hair, but he didn't even notice. Cain snorted, and almost burst out laughing. I patted him on the shoulder before tucking into my food again. I'd made my good deed for the day. I'd made a Slytherin appreciate he was Slytherin, which was always a good thing, and I'd helped Granger do her daily good deed as well. If I wasn't careful, I'd end up on Father Christmas' Nice list this year, and what a disaster that would be.  
  
Just as I finished my dinner, and was sitting there contemplating a second helping, Millicent came in together with Gaspar Montague, who had his hand bandaged. I felt a bit guilty; I'd broken his fingers in a raging caffeine fit, but he should have known better. I raised my eyebrow when I saw something resembling a blush crossing Millicent's cheeks. I needed to get more alert; I'd nearly missed that development. She sat down next to me, with Gaspar on her other side.  
  
"'Lo there, Millie," I said, "Where've you been?"  
  
"I visited the hospital wing to see how your victims were doing," She replied, gesturing towards Gaspar.  
  
"Ah. Sorry about your hand, Gaspar," I grinned, "But you should've learned not to try to talk to me before I've got my coffee. How's it feeling now? The fingers, I mean."  
  
"Good, good; Pomfrey got them fixed up pretty quickly," Gaspar smiled, "But she says I should take it slowly the first couple of days. You look pretty worn yourself; what's ruined your day?"  
  
"It was about thirty-two hours since I last slept, I haven't eaten anything since last night, and I had to run like hell to get to my Defence lesson in time. I'm pretty out of it; I was shaking so bad I couldn't even make it to the Great Hall on my own," I shrugged, "I would've asked Millie, but she wasn't there. I had to recruit a Gryffindor, of all things, to help me."  
  
"A Gryffindor?" Millicent wrinkled her nose, "Good gods, Blaise, what happened to the Slytherin pride?"  
  
"Slytherin pride can be damned when it's a choice between cracking my head open on the stairs and making it to dinner safely," I leaned back in my chair and winked at Cain, who was listening very closely, "Besides, I can be proud over being a Slytherin, even though I occasionally do things that the purebloods shouldn't."  
  
"Only you, Blaise," Millicent shook her head, "Only you."  
  
I grinned at her, and helped myself to some more shepherd's pie. The hunger was starting to sink a bit, and no longer interfered with my thinking. I glanced over at the Gryffindor table, where Granger had just started on her dinner. She looked tired, annoyed and was trying to have a fight with Weasley and eat at the same time. Quite a feat, but then girls were better at doing several things simultaneously than boys were. Weasley was put off about something; I could tell by the colour of his face. He always blushed when he was angry. Too bad he's angry all the time.  
  
I finished my food, and pushed the plate away. Cain was still pushing his food around on his plate, whistling to himself. Apparently, he wasn't too hungry. Resolutely, I took some mashed potatoes and put on his plate, and poured him another glass of pumpkin juice. I wasn't about to let him starve. He looked at me in surprise, and I raised an eyebrow at him.  
  
"Cain Angevine, what would your mother say if you didn't eat your dinner properly?" I asked sternly, leaning forward, "Now, eat your potatoes like a good boy, and I won't tell Professor Snape about this."  
  
Cain stared at me in shock for a moment, before a grin broke out on his face. I winked at him; I do appreciate when people pick up on my rather twisted sense of humour. I patted him on the shoulder before standing up. I needed to sleep, or I'd pass out, food or no food. I walked out of the Great Hall after nodding goodbye to Millicent and Gaspar. Sleep would he possible tonight; last night I hadn't been tired, so I hadn't fallen asleep when I should have. I just needed to be exhausted to go to sleep; the nightmares scared me, so I'd keep myself awake if I wasn't bone-tired.  
  
Draco and Pansy entered just as I was leaving. They'd been having Potions, as far as I could understand. Draco had told me he had chosen to take Potions, Divination for some easy grades, Care of Magical Creatures since that would come in handy for the war, and Ancient Runes. True to her habit, Pansy had done the same. I never really understood why she has to slavishly follow anything Draco does, be she ever so much in love with him. One should never give up ones own wishes because a loved one asks you to.  
  
*******'  
  
Right, food, sleep, and something else. There was something I'd forgotten to do these past few days, and I was having a hard time remembering what it was. I scratched my head as I climbed the stairs, trying to come up with it. What had I not done over the last few days, except not thinking straight? Let's see; eaten properly, not wandered around where I shouldn't and...Showered. That was it; I hadn't showered in days. I wrinkled my nose. No wonder it seemed as if everything smelled of smoke and ashes these days.  
  
I turned at the top of the steps and headed for the bathroom instead, yawning slightly as I went. I opened the door to the bathroom, and stepped inside. We've got pretty good bathrooms at Hogwarts; all white tiles and so on, and always clean towels. But then again, that's what you get for having Britain's largest population of House Elves. Yawning, I stripped down, detachedly listening to the running water. Hopefully, I wouldn't fall asleep standing up in the shower.  
  
God, hot water running over me has got to be the most potent sleeping pill in the world. I actually fell asleep, standing up, three times in a row before I finished. Each time, I gained a new bump on my forehead as I hit it against the wall. I stepped out and wrapped a towel around my waist and started looking for my clothes again. There, my trousers and my underwear, there, my father's shirt. My robes went in the wash-stack, for the House Elves to take away and clean. They had all weekend.  
  
I got dressed again, and brushed my teeth. By now, I was working automatically; my brain had stopped functioning about the third time I fell asleep, and I couldn't get it to work again. I didn't really bother trying; I was too tired. I dragged myself out of the bathroom and to my dormitory, collapsing on my bed. I curled up and fell asleep immediately, not bothering to undress. If I didn't know better, I would've said I snored.  
  
*****'  
  
Ending Notes; I'm sorry for the long lapse in updates, but there's a reason for it. My well-meaning, adorable but hopelessly annoying older brother decided to un-install Microsoft Word on my computer, and so I have had to make do with a word processor I am totally unfamiliar with, and which file- format can't be used on ff.net. Hopefully, I'll be able to reinstall Word again and start working like normal. 


	7. Taking Flight

At long last, I have updated. This chapter's been done for a while, but I want to get a bit ahead of you before I update. I'm writing chapter 13 as we speak. Don't hate me too much, please?  
  
*****'  
  
Weekends in the Slytherin Common Room is never a very exciting affair. Slytherins tend to be a rather lazy lot, and weekends are used to laze about in the various armchairs and couches, or doing ones homework, if there was any. As weekend came only two days into the new term, there wasn't much homework, at least not for anyone who weren't in fifth or seventh year. I was sitting in an armchair just in front of the fire, once again stupidly giving myself nightmare-fodder. With one leg over one armrest and my back against the other, I looked, and felt, pretty lazy myself.  
  
I'd slept for seven hours, which was more than I anticipated, and was pretty much awake. I was reading my copy of Hogwarts; A History, for what seemed the tenth time. I'd kept it in my school trunk, which had been stashed in a shed along with my broom, and therefore hadn't been consumed by the fire. Irony of fate, I guess, that my school things would survive when my, er, well. When other things didn't. I was deeply engrossed in my book, buried under some detailed description of the various odd rooms at Hogwarts. I hoped to find the Thestral room, just to see what its purpose was, if it had one. Thus far, I had come up with absolutely nothing.  
  
Millicent was sitting across from me; flicking tiny pieces of parchment into the fire and watching them burn with a half-amused look on her face. I didn't want to read too much into that; you never know what psychological damages others might have, be they your friends or not. I had refrained from teasing her about her visit to Gaspar in the hospital wing, if only because she was capable of beating the snot out of me if she wanted to. If she hadn't been, I would have poked fun at her every chance I got. Yes, I'm cruel. Draco had taken his broom out to practise before the first Quidditch game, and Pansy was off somewhere with Tracy Davies, giggling about boys and other things girls like her cared about.  
  
"I give up!" I said, closing the book with a snap, "There's nothing in there!"  
  
"Nothing about what?" Millicent asked, looking up from her activities.  
  
"It's not important," I shook my head dismissively, "Just something I got into my head. How's it going Cain?"  
  
Cain, who was sitting on the rug next to us and scribbling furiously on his Potions essay, looked up from his work and smiled. He'd sat down there as soon as he came back from breakfast, and started writing. Apparently, his relations to his fellow first years had not improved from yesterday. Not that I had expected them to; it took more than a day to change people's minds. It didn't look as if he'd made an effort to talk to them either; they didn't even look twice at him. Maybe he was just more comfortable with older, or should I say, less prejudiced Slytherins. Some people are just like that.  
  
"Good. I'm almost done with the first foot now," He said proudly. "I've only got a foot and three inches to go; then I'll be done."  
  
"Good. Essays are never fun," I wrinkled my nose at him. "Practical homework, now then we're talking. I can't wait for some of that from the Defence class, even if Lucas is bound to assign some moronic homework we won't see the point of."  
  
"Now, now, Blaise," Millicent murmured, "Lucas knows what he's doing; he's putting himself in respect by making us dislike him. A class that dislikes the teacher is easier to teach; they might glare at you the whole time, but at least you'll have their attention. Besides, he's brilliant; no one saw him on the first day, remember? He made himself invisible, and you know how hard that is."  
  
"I saw him," Cain piped up, at the same time as me.  
  
"God made two, I see," Millicent raised her eyebrow, before going back to her previous occupation.  
  
Silence returned, and I stared into the ceiling. Interesting pattern, what with remnants of old paint and something that looked suspiciously like a nailed-up carpet on it, but not interesting enough to keep me distracted. Thankfully, Draco came in looking remarkably annoyed, before sanity completely deserted me due to boredom. I waved him over and he stomped his way across the muffling carpet with his broom thrown across his shoulder. That old Nimbus had been with him for a while now, and was starting to look a little worn around the edges.  
  
He threw himself down in an ancient armchair, a relic from the time when silver spots were in, and grumbled to himself. I could barely keep myself from grinning; finally someone I could poke fun at without fear for my own health. Draco was always easy to manipulate, and even if it went as far as fighting, I was way ahead of him in Defence and Charms; he wasn't taking either. Besides, I was the House Champion of duelling.  
  
"I gather the practise didn't go too well, did it?" I asked, raising my eyebrow and smirking.  
  
"No!" Draco snapped, startling Cain so bad that he dropped his quill, "I couldn't practise on the pitch because Perfect Potter and his minions had booked the damn thing! I don't see how he could have gotten enough players for a full-team practise, since both his Beaters and his Chasers left last year. Bloody Gryffindors."  
  
"Blaise got help from a Gryffindor yesterday," Cain piped up, looking reproachful.  
  
I looked at him in surprise; it was pretty amazing that he dared to speak up in presence of Draco Malfoy, who was the unofficial King of Slytherin; at least of you listened to the younger students, when he didn't dare to even look at his year mates. Odd kid, that was. Too bad I was so fond of him, or I would have thumped him for telling Draco about that. I'd rather keep my business with the Gryffindors quiet, since Draco wasn't exactly their hero, nor were they his. Draco fixed him with a glare at first, and then looked at me in askance, obviously wondering what little, scrawny Cain was doing over with us.  
  
"What's he talking about, Blaise? And who is he?" Draco asked.  
  
"This is Cain Angevine, Draco," I introduced the two of them, "A newly acquired friend of mine, and what he's talking about isn't really important. I was having a dizzy-spell, and the only one around to help me was a Gryffindor."  
  
I kept carefully quiet about which Gryffindor, since I knew Draco would have kittens about it if he knew it was Granger. I wouldn't mind if he hexed her one for the way she'd acted sometimes, but she didn't deserve what Draco would probably accuse her of. Probably unnecessary, but I did what I could to keep the peace. Draco looked at me suspiciously for a moment, before leaning back in his chair with a deep sigh and dropped his broom on the floor carelessly.  
  
"I'm officially exhausted," He declared.  
  
I rolled my eyes, but nodded. Draco can really over-dramatize things when he wants sympathy. I usually ignore him at these occasions, but sometimes I play along if I'm bored. There was no way he would ever be as exhausted as I had been the previous day, unless something happened to the world order. But with the world today, you never knew. I sat back and listened as Draco started to complain. Soon, we were joined by Pansy, who comforted Draco the best she could. It was rather nauseating to watch, and I settled down to help Cain with his homework instead; it seemed the sensible thing to do.  
  
Saturday drifted past slowly and lazily, and was spent doing nothing but more or less sleep in the armchairs and play chess. I played against Millicent first, and narrowly avoided a loss, and then Cain, who was pretty good but no match to me. We only ventured out of the Common Room to eat. A boring day, as far as days went, but by now, I'd learned to appreciate boring days; it wasn't as if days would ever be boring with Potter around to shake things up.  
  
*******'  
  
There is something special about flying. There's a freedom to it that not all the Levitation Charms in the world could duplicate, a freedom that comes with the wind rushing around you and the slightly fearful feeling of the amazing heights and speeds. Me, I'm addicted to speed. I can't stand playing Quidditch, not at all, but the mere speed can have me in a daze for hours just thinking about it. Yes, I'm a dork when it comes to some things.  
  
Against all reason, I'd woken up early on Sunday morning and decided that it was a good day for flying. I'd grabbed my broom and headed to the Great Hall to make a pit-stop for coffee before going to the pitch. The air was clear and crisp, but it would be a while before it was cold though, even this far up in Scotland. The sky was grey, but it didn't look as if it was going to rain. A fine day for flying, indeed.  
  
I got to the pitch, and made sure my Silver Arrow wasn't going to fall to pieces on me, and kicked off. The rush of wind around me as I rose nearly took the breath out of me. As I gained altitude, I could see more and more of Hogwarts grounds. The trees shrank beneath me, and the air was getting progressively thinner. I levelled out, knowing that if I went any higher, I'd pass out. I could see Hagrid come out of the Forbidden Forest with his boar hound, and a group of students closer to the lake. A deep shadow beneath the water told the location of the Giant Squid, which stretched a tentacle above the surface and waved at someone, either at the shore or at me. I couldn't be sure.  
  
I spent almost an hour flying before the thin air got too much; I was getting a headache. I made a break-neck dive down to the pitch again, disregarding that there was a big possibility that I might do break my neck, and pulled up just in time. It was like a Wronki's Feint, only no Snitch. I was rather proud of it, if I do say so myself. My feet touched the ground again, and I put my broom on my shoulder. I stood there for a while, staring at the leaden sky, not really thinking.  
  
Flying was good for me; when I was up there, flying circles on my good old broom, I didn't think. I didn't have to care about anything, and when I did bother to think about anything but flying, it didn't seem to matter as much. It didn't bother me, somehow. I shook my head; I was getting too deep, even for myself. If I didn't watch out, I'd become a poet soon. That would be fun; spouting irrelevant poetry at inopportune moments for no reason at all, and then have to explain it. Or not explain it, whichever came first.  
  
It was too early for lunch, and as much as I loved my friends, I didn't feel like spending hours playing Wizard's Chess with them at the moment, so I climbed the stands instead, and sat there. I didn't really have anything in mind; just to sit there and not do anything would be nice. I really should have gone to Snape and asked him to get me some books if I paid him, but I didn't feel like it. I could sneak someone else's book if I needed to.  
  
"Quite a good bit of flying there, Mr Zabini," A pleased, but sharp voice said to the side of me.  
  
My head snapped around so fast it must have looked hilarious, and I had my wand half-way out before I even realised it. Madame Hooch watched me with a peculiar half-smile, and sat down beside me. I relaxed again and put my wand back in my pocket. Hooch wouldn't try to attack me, unless I insulted the noble sport of warlocks, otherwise known as Quidditch. I nodded a greeting and affirmation to her, and then returned to staring out over the grounds.  
  
"What sort of broom do you fly?" She asked.  
  
"A Silver Arrow," I shrugged, and handed her the broom, "It was a gift."  
  
"Silver Arrow? Good broom that," Hooch nodded, inspecting it as only professional Quidditch players could, "I learned to fly on one of those. But you've made adjustments to this, haven't you, Zabini?"  
  
"Yeah. It's faster than the regular edition, and can go much higher," I smiled a bit. Trust Hooch to discuss brooms at every chance she got, "I like living dangerous. I've put some Preserving Charms on it too; I don't want it to break. There're no spare parts to buy for it, and it's been a ling time since they stopped manufacturing these. A shame, really."  
  
"Yes, it's such a good broom. Never have they made one that's safer and more reliable than the Silver Arrow," Hooch shook her head, "If it wasn't for my work here at Hogwarts with fostering the next generation of Quidditch players, I'd be off making brooms by now. Speaking of Quidditch; why haven't you tried out for the House team? You're good enough to beat any Chaser out there only on your speed."  
  
I was uncomfortable. I knew it was her ambition to foster the best Quidditch players in the world and that she would gladly have cheered for me if I played, but I didn't want to. Quidditch rules were too rigid for me; I wanted to fly, not play a silly game on broomsticks, and that was, when you got right down to it, what Quidditch was. A silly game on broomsticks, with high liability to break bones.  
  
"I don't want to; I don't like the rules. It would be nice for Slytherin to win this year though; Potter's kept his winning streak up for too long." I said, taking my broom back. "But our team's looking bad. I want to see that Cup in our Common Room at least once before I graduate."  
  
"Yes. I remember when Slytherin won the Cup when I went to Hogwarts," Hooch was getting decidedly misty-eyed, "Old Thaddeus Flint wouldn't stop bragging for weeks after a game. Not that I blame him, he was a great captain. Ravenclaw had to put up a hard fight to win those days."  
  
"Thaddeus Flint?" I asked, "Any relation to Marcus Flint?"  
  
"Yes. Grandfather, as a matter of fact. The Flints always seem to be one generation ahead. My mother went to school with Thaddeus' grandfather." Hooch nodded.  
  
"Hmm." I mumbled. There wasn't really much else to say.  
  
Slowly, it began to rain. Raindrops splashed down onto the stands and on us, soaking my hair and clothes. I was glad I didn't wear glasses; I could only imagine how horrible that would be. Hooch bid me goodbye before making her way back to the castle. I didn't move. If I didn't get myself out of the rain, I might catch pneumonia, but at the moment, I didn't care the slightest. Illness was definitely preferable to going back inside and face the questions of my friends, demanding to know where I'd been. Sure, concern was nice and all, but they could be overbearing.  
  
I sat there in the rain for a long time. It had been too long since I had any decent time for myself, and besides, making my way back to the castle and jumping in all the puddles was fun. I must have looked nothing short of silly, but I was having fun, and didn't care about it. I was dripping wet from head to toe when I reached the castle doors, and more than a little muddy. I opened the doors, which stuck something horrible in the humid weather, and stepped inside. Right onto Filch's newly-swept floor. I dripped mud right onto it, and stood there for a moment, looking sheepish.  
  
I've never seen Filch so mad; not even that time in second year when Mrs Norris was Petrified. He went purple, and sputtered for several seconds before gathering whatever wit he had left and glaring at me. He drew himself up in his full height, which was still a head shorter than me, and prepared to scream at me.  
  
"Zabini!" He yelled, "How dare you put your filthy feet on my clean floor? You'll have detention for this!"  
  
"Sorry Mr Filch," I mumbled in what I hoped was a sorrowful voice. To tell the truth, I didn't care if I got detention or not; I had all day, and since it was Sunday, they were bound to give me detention right away. I could spend the rest of the day scrubbing cauldrons; it would give me something to do.  
  
"You come with me now, Zabini," Filch hissed, his face twisting into a nasty grin. "The Owlry hasn't been cleaned in a long time now; it could use a good scrubbing."  
  
On second thought, I should have stayed in bed. Scrubbing bird droppings wasn't my idea of fun. I trailed after Filch, making sure to put a lot of mud on the clean floors, just as a petty revenge for the detention. Cleaning the Owlry, I say. Of all things, it had to be that. At least he hadn't taken my broom. Yet. If I knew Filch right, he would, as soon as he got the chance. He's a petty man, always has been. He hates all of us students, and all of the teachers except Snape, who he grovels in the dust for. And even then, he dislikes Snape. Odd, that one.  
  
The Owlry was, the say the least, filthy. I can't believe how much filth owls can produce. Filch gave me a nasty smile when I wrinkled my nose, and took a step back, standing just outside the door, with his hand on the doorknob. Gods, how I disliked that man.  
  
"I'll be back in two hours, Zabini, and by then I want it so clean I can eat off the floor." He informed me, "And no magic."  
  
I rolled my eyes, and leaned my broomstick against the wall. I didn't want it getting filthy, after all. The owls looked as if they were glaring at me from their perches, all but one who was circling the room and hooting excitedly. I squinted at it, but stepped out of the way. I liked my hair clean, thank you very much. The owl was tiny, and looked nothing short of insane. I shrugged, and got to work with scrubbing the floor.  
  
The floor was covered in a thick layer of straw and filth, making it very hard to know what was supposed to go and what was supposed to stay. I pushed it around for several minutes, before realising it was entirely possible to clean the whole place in two hours, and Filch wouldn't come back earlier than that, and that I could just use magic to clean it. I shook my head at my own stupidity, and pulled out my wand.  
  
"Scourgify," I said, swishing and flicking it quickly, and watched as the filth and mud disappeared, leaving only clean straw and somewhat confused owls.  
  
I sat down on the windowsill, intent on waiting until Filch returned. The insane owl fluttered around my head, hooting like mad, and I watched it circle. I recognised it, but only vaguely, and couldn't for the life of me remember where I'd seen it before. It just seemed absolutely insane, and had these too large eyes, even out of proportion for an owl and that's saying something, which were staring at everything. May it had had too many owl-treats when it was...smaller. It certainly wasn't big now.  
  
I turned my attention to the window, and watched the raindrops make their way down the windowpanes. I was sure I saw one trying to make the silhouette of a man dancing fandango, but it disappeared. I stared out the window instead, at the grounds and the Forbidden Forest. I saw a Thestral emerge from beneath the treetops and circle for a while before diving again and vanishing. Too bad it was raining; otherwise I would have gone out there again to fly. I wanted to see how high I could go before my broom gave out. Not a sane idea, I know, but fun nonetheless.  
  
Maybe I'd go flying after the rain; the air would be much clearer than before the rain, and much better to fly in. Just to see how far I could see up there. Just for fun. There was something breathtaking about the clear air that high up. It seemed purer, somehow, better than the one closer to the ground. And the amazing freedom was just so mind-blowing. Whoever said flying was overrated has clearly never flown. Not on a proper broom at least, not in a proper way. The flying lessons, with all due respect to Hooch, were dull at best and deathly boring at worst.  
  
I lost track of time, sitting there staring out at the rain and the sky, and only came out of my daze when Filch opened the door suddenly. I scrambled to my feet and tried to look as if I had been hard at work for the last two hours, and apparently I succeeded, because he only nodded and left again. I snatched up my broom and left the Owlry, my stomach growling. I needed lunch.  
  
*******'  
  
I've proven it; Slytherins are the laziest breed in the universe. At noon, lunch, whatever you wish to call it, Millicent, Draco, Pansy and Gaspar were still asleep. The only Slytherin who was reasonably awake was Cain, and he was sitting there and pushing his food around. I messed up his hair as I passed, snatching a sandwich on the way; I had no time to eat a proper lunch. I wanted to get out and fly. I completely ignored the fact that it was raining; I wasn't going to melt, and I'd never flown in rain before, not properly, since I wasn't on the Quidditch team and didn't have practises on insane times of the day. Like three o' clock in the morning. Not even the Gryffindors were that dedicated.  
  
I ran through the rain out to the pitch, splashing as much as I could in the puddles on the way. I felt like a little kid again, out jumping in the puddles and getting myself wet despite my mother's strict orders about the opposite. I straddled my broom and kicked off again, shooting upwards through the rain. The heavy raindrops splashed on my shoulders, and soaked my clothes through, plastering them to my shoulders and torso. And I laughed.  
  
I laughed and I laughed and I laughed.  
  
I turned my face upwards, closed my eyes, and smiled into the sky.  
  
******'  
  
Ending Notes; anyone who catches the Queen reference in this chapter deserves a big cup of hot chocolate. 


	8. Catching Colds

I will start updating more regularly, sometime in the future, but here is the eight chapter at last. Writing is going good right now, so you might get chapter nine sooner than you got this one.  
  
******'  
  
Unconsciousness began to slip away as I began my descent into waking again. I cracked one eye open and snapped it shut again immediately. My head was pounding, and I was pretty sure I had a tiny, green gnome on my forehead who was attempting to hack his way into my brain. That's what you get from flying in the rain. Sure, that had been three days ago, but as everyone knew, it took three days to catch a cold, three days to have a cold and three days to get rid of a cold. I think I read that somewhere in a book. Probably a Muggle one. Sounds like something they would say.  
  
I fought my way up out of the bed, and realised it was once again Thursday. Meaning all four subjects in one day, albeit short lessons. Hopefully, Thursday the 7th of September wouldn't bring any detentions or points- losses. Hell, I hoped I'd make it through the day without sneezing at my teachers. I'd like to, only once, have a nice, normal week of school. Or at least as nice and normal a week as one could have in the presence of Harry Potter.  
  
In a pile on the floor, hastily discarded late last night, were my clothes. I'd sat up most of the night, writing on my latest Transfiguration assignment, and hadn't gone to bed until well after midnight. I could take a late night though; it was when I went to bed early in the morning that the troubles began to pop up. A cold didn't help very much either, but somehow I managed to make it to the Great Hall without falling down. The one thing that kept me going that far was the thought of coffee in a great big mug, and another one after that. Unfortunately, when I did reach the breakfast table, I noticed almost no one was there anymore. Except Cain, who was hurrying to finish up his breakfast, looking very stressed.  
  
"Cain? Where is everybody?" I asked my voice sounding like I'd eaten gravel and stuffed my nose with cotton. "Why aren't they eating breakfast?"  
  
"Because we have five minutes before class start!" Cain said frantically, "I've got to run!"  
  
He upped and left, trailing parchment all across the Great Hall as he ran. I can't blame him; he's got Transfiguration first thing in the morning on Thursdays, and no one wants to be late for McGonagall's class. I had Arithmancy, at the very top of the castle, in five minutes. Fortunately, it was only one staircase and one hallway away, and if I took the coffee with me, I just might get a decent breakfast before Vector forced Geometrics on us again. I snatched a cup, put a charm on it so that it wouldn't spill over when I ran, and headed for the door as fast as my legs to carry me. Those nights with A Housewife's Guide to Useful Charms had paid off.  
  
I dodged a few late-comers, clutching onto my coffee as if it was a life- saver, which it more or less was, and ran like crazy for the staircase. I'm sure I sent more than one first-year scrambling for the safety of their classrooms. I must have looked might frightening; dishevelled, dressed in an anything but clean shirt (my father's; I never did get those soot-stains out) and running like a madman with a mug of coffee in my hands. I still had about three minutes when I reached the top of the stairs, and was confident that I would reach the classroom on time.  
  
I did, and slipped into my seat about two minutes before Vector entered the room, carrying a stack of papers for us. I curled up in my seat and looked at her blearily. Colds are not a good help if one wishes for good education. I tried to be as unsuspicious as possible as I sipped my coffee, and listened as much as I could to Vector as she rattled off something about how good we were and how proud she was of us. Attention took a holiday after that, and I let my eyes drift over the other students. Granger was glaring at me again. I nodded my head at her and sipped my coffee silently. Wonder why she was glaring at me; I hadn't done anything to insult or hurt her this term, and neither could I remember if I had done anything to her specifically earlier either. Maybe she was still annoyed about having to drag me down to the Great Hall.  
  
Bones was one of the few Hufflepuffs who took Arithmancy, and one of the few Hufflepuffs I'd ever bothered to speak to. They're not bad, as a breed, but I've never seen a reason to talk to them. They're the most reliable people in the world, and I appreciate them greatly; if I had a choice, I'd rather have a Hufflepuff on my side than a Ravenclaw or a Gryffindor. They, at least, won't bury themselves in books and refuse helping me or charge head-straight into trouble. Thank Merlin for the Hufflepuffs, is all I can say.  
  
Vector started handing out the papers, and I ducked into my book-bag to look for my quill. My breakfast, while pretty thin, had gotten my brain working again, and I stared working through the problems as quickly as I could. Some of them were quite complicated, and took some time, but I managed. I didn't get into this class by being stupid, after all. I could hear Bones whistling to herself as she worked the problems out, while Granger was mumbling. Boots was having a whispered conversation with himself and was apparently lost completely in a world of his own. That's a thing I like about Arithmancy class; it's always so quiet.  
  
Arithmancy comes easy to me, but it isn't very enjoyable. I needed it to give me a wide range of occupations to chose from when I graduated though, and so I endured it. I finished my paper and put my quill down. Vector raised her eyebrow, but took it and handed me another one. I sighed. I should have known Vector had more things in store for me. Sometimes, I could swear she makes these things up in the middle of the night, cackling like a madwoman, just so that I won't be able to get a second of rest in class. The teachers are conspiring against me, I swear. Honest.  
  
Let's see, one and one is two, as always, so two times five is ten, divided by thirty-five, times - egads, what is this equation? Vector had given me the mathematical equivalent of insanity. I scratched the back of my head, wondering what I had done to deserve that kind of punishment, before looking up. I needed to distract my brain before dealing with the veritable monster Vector had handed me. I noticed Granger was looking pretty desperate as well, and I figured she'd finished early as well. She was running her hands through her hands and counting on her fingers silently, apparently not getting any sense out of it either. But then she began to scribble furiously; she must have figured out some part of it. I furrowed my brow; there was no way I was letting Granger get ahead of me in Arithmancy. I picked up my quill again and got back to the paper. I would finish this, and I would do so before Granger.  
  
Let's see, I was at ten divided by thirty-five. It didn't get easier after that, but I was determined to finish it. I glanced to my side and saw Granger picking up her quill again and writing. I returned to my paper and scribbled faster. Numbers and fractions swam before my eyes, and I did my best not to mix them up. Just as I was writing the last number down, my quill broke. I ducked down into my bag again and retrieved my reserve-quill and finished the equation and out my quill down at the same time Granger did. I stared at the answer for a moment, before realising there was something wrong with it. It didn't add up properly. I raised my hand, but didn't wait for Vector to say anything before I spoke. Bad manners, but hey, that's me.  
  
"Professor, there's something wrong with this." But I wasn't the only one who had spoken. I looked to my side, and saw Granger with her hand up as well, but now glaring at me. I raised my eyebrow. The Gryffindor shows her claws.  
  
"You solved it that quickly?" Vector smiled, "Whatever shall I do with the two of you? I will have to come up with more difficult assignments, I believe. There is something wrong with it, yes. I am impressed both of you saw it that quickly. Five points for both of your Houses."  
  
I blinked. So I earned five points for figuring a problem was wrong. A grin spread over my face. Neat! I'll have to do that again. Granger glared at me, clearly not happy that I had earned points fairly. I gave her a happy grin, just to annoy her, and turned by attention back to Vector. Say, Arithmancy had its good points, as long as you were allowed to poke fun at Gryffindors.  
  
******'  
  
"So, Blaise, what's your next goal?" Millicent asked me as we wandered off in the direction of the Charms classroom. "You always seem to be having a to-do list somewhere about your person."  
  
"My next goal?" I grinned, "Annoy the hell out of Granger. She takes it personally all the time, and besides, to see her trying to form a reply to an insult when she's so angry that he hair stands on end is pretty funny. Gryffindors are so wonderfully easy to anger, don't you think?"  
  
"That they are," Millicent agreed, "Why Granger though?"  
  
"Because her fists aren't as prone to flying as Weasley's are, and she's easier to handle than Potter." I shrugged, "I don't intend to keep it up for long; just a minor distraction."  
  
We turned a corner in the corridor and walked into the Charms classroom. I had anticipated this lesson greatly; Flitwick had promised to teach us some new Charms that he thought were wonderfully useful. This could only mean good things; Flitwick had yet to deliver a lesson that wasn't at least somewhat interesting. I sat back in my seat and played with my sleeve as we waited for the lesson to start. Granger, Potter and Weasley entered, and Granger glared at me. I threw a piece of paper at her. Weasley looked as if he was going to hit me for a while, but then sat down again. Bah. Boring people.  
  
"Good day, everyone!" Flitwick chirped, cheerful as always, "Today we are going to learn a brand new charm, just invented last year, as a matter of fact; when the incantation is spoken, a small, or large, storm cloud will appear over the receiver's head, and a tiny, or large, rainstorm will break out, depending on how forcefully the caster's wand is flicked. Now, say after me; tempestas."  
  
"Tempestas." We chorused.  
  
We were paired up two and two to try out the new spell on each other, while Flitwick stood to the side, ready with some heating spells if we should succeed. Storms create quite a bit of water when unleashed. I and Millicent practised it, and although it turned out to be only sparks the first few times I tried it, I concentrated more and managed to actually create a tiny rain cloud above her head. Only a few raindrops, but I was nearly jumping with joy of having accomplished the spell, however small, in that short amount of time. I grinned broadly at Millicent, who wrinkled her nose; she didn't like getting her hair wet.  
  
"Right, let's see if I can do the same on you then," She said, pulling out her own wand.  
  
"Oh, Millie, let's not," I realised that a bucket-load of water over my head would not improve my health very much what with the cold and all, "I've got a serious cold, and why don't you go and ask Bones if you can practise with her; she hasn't got anyone to hex."  
  
"Weakling," Millicent laughed before moving off to look for Bones.  
  
I sat down on a chair in the corner of the room, and watched the others. My headache, which had gone away after breakfast, returned again. I dislike being ill; it's annoying, especially having colds, since they don't really hurt or are life-threatening in any way, but are constantly there, blocking my nose, my throat and setting my hearing and my eyesight down a few notches. I sat there, fiddling with a corner of my robes, and tried to distract myself from utter boredom.  
  
"Are you alright Mr Zabini?" Flitwick seemed worried.  
  
"I've caught a bit of a cold, sir," I shrugged. It always paid to be nice to teachers who liked you, and even those who didn't, "Nothing serious, but I thought I'd sit down for a bit."  
  
"Ah. Those are a bit of a bother," Flitwick nodded, "Why don't you go up to see Poppy and ask for some Pepper-Up Potion? You have already accomplished today's lesson, and the homework is only to practise the spell some more. Go ahead now."  
  
"Alright," I nodded and got up. Pepper-Up Potion sounded like a good idea right now anyway.  
  
*******'  
  
Madam Pomfrey is strange; she spends all her time up in the hospital wing, rolling bandages, preparing beds and waiting for the next patient to call in sick. The only time she leaves that place is to go to the Quidditch- games, and then only because she has to stand by in case something happens. I like her though; there's never anyone as helpful when you're sick. There must have been a distinct lack of patients this term, because she swooped down on me as soon as I took a step inside the door, and was ushered off to sit on a newly-made bed. A cup of the smoking potion was pushed into my hands, and she stood there with her arms crossed, waiting for me to drink up. I did.  
  
"What have you done to land yourself with a cold, Mr Zabini?" She asked, arcing one eyebrow.  
  
"I was flying in the rain," I tried not to look like a guilty little boy, but I guess I failed.  
  
"Why were you flying in the rain?"  
  
"Because it's fun?"  
  
"Ah." Ouch, that sounded ominous. Note to self; never go flying in the rain if there's any danger of catching a cold. Madam Pomfrey's glaring isn't nice to be at the receiving end of.  
  
I was ordered to stay in bed for about half an hour, just for the potion to take effect. That left me about fifteen minutes free before Defence. Ample time to worry about what Lucas would do to me this time. I hoped I didn't have to clean out the Owlry again. Lucas had chosen me as his own personal target, of that I was certain. And I'd never done anything to him. Ten minutes ticked by. I couldn't take lying down without reading or something, and sighed.  
  
"Madam Pomfrey?" I called.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Do I have to lie still for half an hour?" I looked at her pleadingly, "I'm going to go crazy, and I know you'll hate to have to deal with a basket case. I'll go straight to class, and sit down and not move for at least an hour. Can I go now?"  
  
"You will get yourself in trouble, Mr Zabini," She shook her head, but let me go. Yes! Zabini, 1, Pomfrey, 0. I was good at this game. "But if you ever show up her with a cold due to flying in the rain, I'm going to show you the door and laugh at you."  
  
"And don't you forget it!" She called after me as I headed down the corridor.  
  
I shook my head and snorted. She certainly was a character, that Poppy Pomfrey. Who names their child Poppy anyway? Other than a Herbology-raging Hufflepuff, I mean. Honestly, naming ones daughter after a tree is just cruel. I turned a corner, whistling to myself, unconsciously choosing a song from the Muggle CD I'd bought during summer. There was something about those guitar-solos that stuck in my mind. I didn't consider them the best music ever created, but they weren't bad, and as mentioned, they stuck.  
  
I reached the classroom way before anyone else did, and settled myself into a seat at the back, where I could pull my legs up and rest my arms on my knees and my back against the wall, and still see the front of the classroom clearly, and hopefully without being disturbed by Lucas or anyone else. While the Pepper-Up Potion had helped, I was nowhere near being cured of my cold. My head still hurt, and my brain wasn't what it was. It never had been, as Millicent would have told me. I drifted off into half-asleep state, and stared vacantly at the blackboard. Sickness did odd things to my brain.  
  
Lucas was an odd fellow; he hadn't erased the phrase he'd written the first day of lessons yet, and I had a feeling that it would be written there until he left. He'd never really told us anything other than the fact that it had to do with Defence, and the things he believed it to be. It had no relation whatsoever with what we were learning this term. He had some strange ideas, that Vincent Lucas. He'd told us nothing about himself other than his name, but it rang a bell in my mind. If only I could find the string the bell was attached to, then I might get some idea about who he was. If I had the energy to do it.  
  
We had Defence three times a week; Tuesday, Thursday and Friday, with the Thursday lesson being the shortest, only an hour long. This was our fourth Defence lesson, and I had yet to learn something new. No new curses, no new dark creatures. Maybe we would today. Lucas had only put us though senseless assignments, such as writing about that phrase and a short re- telling of our meeting with the Boggart. Senseless, stupid things, which would not make us able to defend ourselves. He had yet to be true to his words on the second day. I'd ask him, but I didn't want detention.  
  
I flipped my book open, at a random page, and began reading about Manticores. Not the most enthralling reading I've ever done, but I needed to keep myself awake. This was certainly more interesting than the lessons we'd been having with Lucas. From the book, at least, I could learn what the weak spots of a Manticore were, and should I ever be faced with one, I would be able to remember it. If I ever faced a Manticore, poetry I'd read wasn't going to make a difference.  
  
It was only gradually that I became aware of someone else in the room with me. Someone who was sitting next to me silently. I don't know how I knew, but I did; there was a kind of presence that you don't feel if you're alone in the room. Even ghosts are detectable that way. I'd always been able to tell, somehow, if I was alone or not. I flipped another page, not looking to my side, calmly continuing to read. There was no reason to get excited or angry; one tends to forget hexes when one gets worked up.  
  
"What is it?" I mumbled, directing my question at the other person.  
  
"Why are you in my classroom this early, Mr Zabini?"  
  
Ah, Lucas. I should have known. It as, as he said, his classroom after all. Why shouldn't he be here? I began on the chapter about old Egyptian magic, still not looking at him. I contemplated not replying, since he was probably going to take points off me for talking back to him, but chose to speak anyway, since he would certainly find a reason to take points if I didn't answer.  
  
"Because I was allowed to leave the hospital wing early and because I didn't feel like sitting in the corridor." I replied, "And because the chairs in this classroom are so much more comfortable than those in the library."  
  
"Why were you in the hospital wing?" That nagging, halfway curious tone.  
  
"I have a cold."  
  
"Why aren't you in bed then? You should not have come to class if you have a cold." Condescending now; it annoyed me.  
  
"Because I didn't feel like staying in bed, and because it was my own damned stupidity that got me the cold, and I'll be damned before I let it win." Yes, strange reasoning. I'd love to get a look of his face when he tries to figure that one out, "And because I didn't want to miss my Defence class. Not that we learn anything useful in it."  
  
"You don't?" Quiet, dangerous.  
  
"No. I have yet to realise how we are going to defend ourselves with the knowledge you have given us." I finally looked at him. He did not, as I had expected, look as if he was on the verge of strangling me. There was a hint of anger in his expression, but he was sitting calmly in his seat, looking at me, "I enjoy poetry, I really do, and fiction is a favourite pastime of mine, but other than throwing a book at a Dark Creature and knocking him out, I don't see a use for it in Defence."  
  
"Ah. You think I should be teaching you curses, do you not?" Lucas nodded to himself.  
  
"No, I don't; curses aren't going to help me much, since I know pretty much all of the ones allowed for students. I didn't spend the weekends doing nothing, you know," I interrupted, "While Potter was hiding away somewhere, teaching stunning spells to the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws and his little friends, while he was trying to teach them the Patronus Charm, I was in the dungeons with the fifth, sixth and seventh years, duelling. I'm the Slytherin House Duelling Champion. I know those curses better than anyone else does, and thanks to Potter, the others know enough to save themselves if attacked by a vicious badger, but that won't be enough, will it? I'll manage, but they won't. Patronus Charms will only get you so far. Millie knows enough, I know enough to manage, but they don't."  
  
Phew, I haven't spoken that much at one time in ages now. Last time I did was in my acceptance speech for the Slytherin Duelling House Cup. Useful trinket that is; it's an old banner, worn so thin that if I held it up to the sky, I would be able to count the stars through it. Zarias Bletchley told me the old legend about it once belonging to old Slytherin himself, over a thousand years ago. It's certainly dusty enough for it to be believable.  
  
"What, exactly, are you proposing I do, Mr Zabini?" Lucas was actually looking interested now.  
  
"Do what Lockhart failed to do," I shrugged, "Even with Snape's helping, or rather unhelping hand; a duelling club. A duelling course, call it what you will. I'm certain the whole of Hogwarts would sign up for it if you put out a sign-up. I'd suggest you don't; you don't want too many people there at once. Teach the sixth, seventh, and maybe the fifth years how to duel properly, teach them some more dangerous spells, and maybe they won't feel so nervous anymore. It's easier to feel safe when you can defend yourself. And it's easier to sleep if you're not afraid. It's easier to keep sane."  
  
Lucas's eyebrows should have disappeared into his hairline and never come down, but they didn't. He should, by all rights, have told me off for suggesting such a thing, or failing that, should have asked me where I got that crazy idea. But he didn't. He must have planned that already; he must have thought of teaching us how to duel. I just knew it.  
  
"That," He said, "Is the sanest idea I have heard since I stepped through the door of this castle. An idea that might actually work. And it shall begin tomorrow. Today, we will be reading in our books, as a preparation. You are wise for someone so young, Mr Zabini."  
  
I blinked, both at the acceptance and the unexpected compliment. Well, he always was odd, that Lucas. I returned to my book, sinking into the descriptions about Egyptian curses placed on the tombs, and drifted away from the world around me.  
  
*****'  
  
Ending Notes; *gasp* A duelling club! Will this all end in tears? Will it be a success? And most importantly, will Blaise ever get to have a normal school week? We'll see in the coming chapter... 


	9. Friday This Way Comes

The long awaited chapter nine. Things start to heat up for Blaise and the others. There are glimmers of a plot on the horizon, so never fear. It isn't completely pointless.  
  
*****'  
  
Friday. The moment of truth. Duelling was today's lesson, and boy, was I dreading it. I might be the House Champion in duelling, but I had Potter in my class, and he'd duelled with the Dark Lord once, though without any complicated curses. I was sure that Lucas, because of his rather twisted way of looking at things, would pair the two of us up as demonstrators, or as I preferred to call it; lab rats. Lucas had already promised that I wouldn't have to go through the basics with the rest of them, unless he found something missing in my education. There were a lot of things missing in my education; how to make a homemade bomb, for example, but I didn't fear that it would stop me from more advanced duelling classes.  
  
Millicent had been badgering me endlessly since Defence class about what was going to happen, even though she had no clue it was I who came up with it. Lucas had dropped a hint, saying that he had something different planned for all of us for the Friday lesson, and Millicent had rightly assumed that since I had been there earlier than everyone else, I knew more about it. I didn't tell her anything though; I wanted it to be a surprise.  
  
I strolled into the classroom earlier than everyone else, since Lucas had wanted to meet with me to talk a bit. I assumed that it was about the duelling classes. Lucas wasn't sitting behind his desk when I entered, so I shrugged and looked around for somewhere to sit. He'd show up sooner or later; he was probably in the classroom already. I looked at his desk thoughtfully, caught between habit and a childish sense of pranks, before deciding to have some fun before he made himself noticeable again. I, being as tall as I was, simply sat down on his desk. Not at his desk, but on top of it. Just for a laugh.  
  
Lucas didn't laugh.  
  
He smiled though, if only for a split-second, so I wasn't too worried. He'd been sitting at the back of the classroom, feet on the desk in front of him. I was sure he had been watching me; as soon as I saw him, his eyes were on me. It was freaky, to look up and realise you were being watched by a pair of crimson eyes that seemed to look straight through you. Lucas was freakish, all of him, from his eyes to his robes to his way of looking at you and giving you his full attention when you spoke. I had to find out how he managed to fade away into the background and hide, without effort, like he did.  
  
"Good day, Mr Zabini." He greeted me, and I nodded back, "However comfortable my desk might be, we have a class to attend to."  
  
"What'd you want me to do?" I stood up again.  
  
"I want you to help me demonstrate the spells and curses, and act as an assistant." He said, "I believe you are capable enough for that, and keeping track of a whole class of fledgling duellists is not by any means easy."  
  
"Not all of us are fledglings, as you term it; Millie got quite far in the championship," I informed him, as I followed him to the corner of the class room. He began unlocking all the lock on a locker I hadn't seen before, "And Potter is, well, Potter. He's faced Voldemort."  
  
He didn't flinch. He didn't even bat an eyelash when I spoke Voldemort's name. Everyone did, except Potter and Granger. Granger because she was Muggleborn and sensible, and didn't believe in fearing a name. Potter because he'd never learned not to speak it. That was strange; everyone else, not counting Dumbledore, feared Voldemort, and I were quite sure that even the Headmaster wasn't comfortable speaking about it.  
  
"And then there's Granger. No offence to Madam Pince or anything, but Granger's been in the Restricted section more time than I have," Lucas was stacking books on my arms, and I had no choice but to hold onto them, "She's the only Muggleborn witch I've ever seen who could Transfigure things faster than a Pureblood could, although with Longbottom, that's another story."  
  
"Surely you aren't afraid of a girl, Mr Zabini?" There was a taunting edge in Lucas' voice.  
  
"You've never seen her angry, have you sir?" I had to overlook his ignorance; he'd only been here for barely two weeks. "You won't like her when she's angry. She was in the Department of Mysteries with Potter last term. She knows what she's doing."  
  
It felt strange, assuring a Muggleborn Gryffindor's knowledge of spells to a Defence teacher I barely knew, but I felt I had to. Granger was frightening when she was mad, and I wouldn't let the inbred racism of Slytherin stop me from warning Lucas that if she got mad, there would be no stopping her, short of knocking her unconscious. I mean, she'd even managed to be still standing after facing off with Millicent at the duelling club in second year.  
  
"How do you know about the Department of Mysteries?" He sounded almost interested now, although he was good at hiding it.  
  
"It's classified information, so of course only people on need-to-know basis knows. Ergo, the whole school knows about it. At least the more intelligent parts of it," I shrugged, which was a difficult thing when one is carrying several heavy books. "Everyone knows what Potter's up to every year. It was the Stone in first year, the Chamber in second, something involving Dementors in third, although I never quite found out what that was about, and then Triwizard in fourth, and Department of Mysteries in fifth. We're all waiting with baited breath on what'll happen this year."  
  
"Is he really that interesting?" Lucas asked, raising an eyebrow as he opened the door to the classroom and stepped out.  
  
"Why of course; next to Quidditch and Muggle baiting, watching Potter's latest adventure is the favoured pastime for large parts of the magical world." He opened yet another door and ushered me inside.  
  
I put the books down on a nearby table, and looked around the room. It was large, with a window in the roof, casting perfect light over the floor. Mirrors lined one wall and there were no other furniture but the table in the whole room. It was a room designed for no other purpose but to train a lot of people in the art of fighting, with wands or without them. But most of all, it was familiar. I had been there before. Once, in first year, when Crabbe and Goyle had bullied me, I'd fled the Common Room. I'd wandered the corridors, nursing bruised ribs and a split lip, and had somehow ended up in this room. Crabbe and Goyle had since grown tired of bullying me, and ever since I became taller than either of them, they don't dare. When I was still only about an inch taller and thin as a toothpick, I was an easy target. I'd grown taller and taller, and even I had begun to wonder when I'd stop growing. For now, it seemed I had, but occasionally, I'd get pains in my back or my knees, signalling that I had some more growing to do.  
  
"You seem very interested in our surroundings, Mr Zabini." Lucas remarked, as he moved around the room, checking and re-setting some basic wards.  
  
"I've been here before, that's all." I answered. "Got lost once in first year, and spent some time in here. So what do we do now?"  
  
"Now? Now we wait," Lucas said, straightening up again, "Or rather, you wait here and I will go and get some things before the lessons start. Then we go and collect the students."  
  
"Right," I said, and sat down in the table.  
  
I didn't know what was with me that day; maybe my childish sense of humour had made a return, bit sitting on tables felt like the right thing to do at the moment, just as defending Granger had felt like the right thing to do at that moment. Follow my impulses; that were what my father had advised me to do, and that was what I always had done. Damn. I shouldn't be left alone. Not when I started thinking like this. But Lucas couldn't have known; no one had told him. All I could do was to wait for his return.  
  
******'  
  
I have never known embarrassment like I knew it then. Sure, it's normal of students to assume that a student in the company of a teacher is in trouble, but they didn't have to stare like that, did they? I wondered if this was what teacher's felt every day when they faced their classes. It would explain a lot. Why Flitwick always seemed so cheerful, even when it was raining and when the Basilisk ruled the halls. Why McGonagall felt it necessary to give the same speech to all first years. Maybe it was just a matter of self-defence.  
  
Potter and his friends looked especially happy to see me standing beside Lucas with what must have been a rather green shade on my face. I would have engaged in an involuntary protein spill had it not been for the fact that it would only get worse if I vomited. Millicent, who knew me like the back of her own hand, raised an eyebrow at my appearance next to Lucas, and I managed a small wink in her direction. I tried to pull myself up into what I hoped was a less slouching stance, and faced them.  
  
"Good day, everyone," Lucas greeted them, and was answered by a lazy chorus of ´Professor´ back, "Are we all here?"  
  
"Hannah's in the hospital wing with a cold," Bones said, raising her hand.  
  
"A cold?" Millicent spoke up, not able to resist the chance to poke fun at me, "Have you been snogging Hufflepuffs Blaise?"  
  
A chuckle spread through the group, although the Gryffindors looked revolted. Most of them didn't know what she was talking about, but made the connection pretty quickly. Weasley and Potter were obviously not among them. I glared at Millicent, and the others silenced gradually. Lucas didn't say anything, and instead smiled for a second, waiting for me to say something in retort.  
  
"No, Millie, I haven't. I tend to wish the people I snog to be at least there when it happens." I said, "I haven't seen Abbott since last week."  
  
Millicent smiled, and there were a few sniggers from the others, but then they quietened down again. We all turned our attention to Lucas, who was by now looking as if we were the oddest people he'd ever met. Well, teenagers tend to be strange. It's part of what makes them teenagers. Well, us. I believe I was born with a mental age of about twenty five to thirty anyway. Some people are perpetual five year olds, like Weasley for example. Growing old is mandatory, but growing up is optional, as they say.  
  
"Come along; this lesson, you will get the surprise I promised for you yesterday." Lucas said, cutting through my thoughts.  
  
He led us back to the room with the mirrors, not saying another word. I could hear them whisper behind me, and I was sure Millicent would have pestered me even more had I not be walking right behind Lucas. I had my suspicions about his hearing though; he seemed to be able to pick up everything that happened around him. Sometimes, I wondered if he wasn't part vampire or something; they're supposed to have exceptional hearing- range and eyesight that could outclass even eagles. Maybe that would explain his eye-colour.  
  
The books were still piled on the table, but neater this time, (I had had a lot of time while waiting for Lucas) and even the mirrors looked neater. I had had nothing to do, and to distract myself from going crazy, I'd tidied the place up. Just a few spells I'd learned from my mother to remove the dust. Yes, I'm strange, and being left alone in a dusty room full of mirrors only made it worse. Lucas strode up to the table and turned back to the class.  
  
"You must have wondered why I have let you do such nonsensical things as analyse poetry in your Defence lessons." He said, "As Mr Zabini pointed out to me, knowledge of poetry will not save you if you are faced with, say, a Manticore. He is, of course, right. Poetry has nothing to do with Defence. But, before he has time to scream at me again," I winced. I hadn't screamed, had I? "Let me tell you why. I want for you to have an understanding to why you are learning the things you will be learning, instead of just taking it in and accepting it."  
  
"What are we going to do then?" Potter piped up, never the one to keep his mouth shut.  
  
"We, Mr Potter, are going to do something Lockhart failed utterly to achieve, even with the helping hand of Severus Snape, as Mr Zabini informed me. We are going to duel." Silence. Utter silence. Any moment now, someone would start laughing, "Because, and I fear I am repeating myself, Mr Zabini reminded me you would be forced to defend yourselves."  
  
I wished he'd stop repeating my name all the time. It made me seem stupid, which I hoped I wasn't, and it made it seem as if I was his favourite student, which I hoped to hell I wasn't. I don't like teachers playing favourites. I crossed my arms over my chest, and tried to ignore the looks I was getting from Millicent and the rest.  
  
And so, the duelling began. We were sorted into groups; I ended up in, joy and excitement, the same group as Granger, Potter and Bones. Millicent, who had ended up with Weasley and some Hufflepuffs, sent me a long-suffering gaze. I grinned at her, but only for as long as I could forget my own company. Bones as alright, I guess, but Granger and Potter, while extraordinarily good at Defence, weren't my favourite people in the world. In fact, Potter wasn't a favourite at all; he'd dropped some comment to Weasley and looked at me, and he'd laughed. I hate people laughing at me, and it must have been a pretty vile thing to say, because Granger had glared at Potter and given Weasley a knock over the head.  
  
"Well, Zabini, let's hop to it then," Bones said, reminding me for a second of someone older, but I couldn't remember who, "What kind of curses should be sic on each other?"  
  
"Anything you feel like," I shrugged, "Aim to hurt; you want to win after all."  
  
"We can't do that," Potter protested, "This is only practise! I don't want to hurt Hermione or Susan!"  
  
A more intelligent person would have shut up right about then. Even Millicent, who generally laughs at me for everything I do, would have shut up and left me alone. But Potter didn't. I clutched my wand, and told myself not to do something stupid, like spit in his face (which was what I felt like doing) or hitting him over the head to wake him up. Did the boy honestly believe that this was a joke? That he would be able to laze his way through this just because he'd had his silly little illegal club last year. Had Millicent seen me now, she would have suggested Potter run before he got himself hurt.  
  
"Well, Potter," I spat, "I don't want to hurt anyone either, but by gods, you're making it hard! This might be ´only practise´, as you term it, but it is ´only practise´ for a bleeding war, Potter, a war I don't want to be on the losing side of."  
  
"Too bad you're a bloody Slytherin then."  
  
A pinhead's drop would have echoed in the silence that ensued after Potter's remark. Millicent tried to catch my eye and was shaking her head frantically. She knows me only too well, but I wasn't going to listen to her this time. Potter wasn't going to get away with this one. And it didn't look as if Lucas was going to stop me. I tightened my grip on my wand, and glared at Potter. He glared right back, and I knew he wasn't going to back down. There was a challenge in his eyes, and I wasn't going to turn it down.  
  
"I could stab you in the back for that, Potter, but I won't," I informed him, and even I shivered at the ice in my voice, "I suggest that since we are in a duelling class, we duel."  
  
In the corner of my eye, I could see Lucas ushering everyone else back from us, aided by Millicent who was looking worried. I couldn't blame her; she'd seen me knock Zarias Bletchley unconscious during a particularly vicious duel, and Zarias had been a lot more knowledgeable in the art of hexes than Potter was. Granger, dragged back by Bones, was looking almost nauseous, and Weasley was almost as red as his hair. If Potter didn't get me first, Weasley would.  
  
Potter sneered, and pulled out his wand. I could see his knuckles whitening, just as mine were. We stood across from each other, staring each other down. It was too late to put our wands away and let it slip. Ice-cold rage had taken over my brain, and I no longer had any control over my actions. The only thing my mind was focused on the long list of hexes I'd learned. I could seriously kill Potter unless he was quick enough. Last year had been one long contest on the weekends, and sometimes even on weeknights. I'd honed my natural talent of spells and hexes till near perfection. I could kill if I had to.  
  
Ten steps back, backs turned.  
  
Halt.  
  
Turn, pull up wands while still turning, snap it up like a whip, focus.  
  
"Expalliarmus!" Potter shouted.  
  
Idiot. He should know by now that the Disarming Charm would be useless against an experienced opponent. Those illegal meetings must have given him too much confidence. I dodged the spell; I could feel it shoot past me. I grinned. If this was the worst he could do, I was in luck. But if I knew him like I thought I did, he'd pull out the big guns as soon as I was off- balance. I wasn't going to let him get that satisfaction.  
  
"Imbera!"  
  
A rainstorm appeared just above Potter's head and soaked him. A tiny lighting bolt singed his untidy hair and he scrambled to get out of the way. I smiled grimly. The air turned greenish with the light of our hexes, and I was close to losing some times, but just as close to winning at other times. Potter was strong, I had to hand it to him, but he didn't have the finesse that came from a long year of duelling Slytherins. It was narrow misses quite a few times, and I got my clothing singed, but he was getting tired. Of course, so was I, but I knew I could go for a lot longer than he could.  
  
We'd been duelling for close to forty minutes by my reckoning, when I saw my opening. Potter, glasses askew and robes dishevelled, stumbled back and lowered his wand for a fraction of a second too long, and I whipped my wand forward like a snake striking.  
  
"Pulsare Astralis!"  
  
Bright light, almost pure white, exploded into existence right in front of Potter's eyes. The light would temporarily blind him, making him easier to immobilise. He dropped his wand, the stupid oaf, and clapped his hands over his eyes, shouting curses out loud. He wasn't too far away by now, and I took the last few steps up to him and pointed my wand at his throat. There was a hushed silence over the class. I could almost hear them thinking. I had beaten Harry Potter in duelling. I had defeated the Boy-Who-Lived. Now, I was frightening.  
  
"Yield, Potter?"  
  
"I have no choice, have I?" He sounded so angry, "I yield."  
  
"Good." I grinned. I was filthy, I was tired as hell, and my head hurt as if someone was hitting it with a hammer, but I'd duelled the Boy-Who-Lived, and I'd won. "You're damn hard to beat, I'll give you that. You're powerful, but you've got to be quicker."  
  
He stood there, blinking, but held out his hand to me. A Gryffindor's acceptance of defeat. I took his hand and shook it, before stuffing my wand in my pocket and turned away. I'd defeated the Boy-Who-Lived, and today, I'd walk as King in the Slytherin Common Room. To everyone else, I'd be either a freak or a traitor. Ah, the differences in reasoning between Houses was wonderful. Millicent, who was standing just beside our duelling site, arms crossed and smiling wryly. She handed me my burnt Defence book, and I smiled back. Lucas flashed me his split-second smile, and I could barely keep myself from grinning insanely.  
  
I had won.  
  
*******'  
  
Ending Notes; headaches, sooty faces and exploding light. Man, Blaise really knows how to shake up Defence class, doesn't he? Right, explanations; Imbera is taken from imber, which means rain in Latin. Pulsare means strike, and Astralis means star, also those in Latin. 


	10. Losing Calm

The Common Room had practically exploded when they heard the news of my beating Potter. I was the hero of the hour, and all the first years looked at me with something akin to worship. All except Cain, who just shook my hand and congratulated me. Odd kid that, but nice to have around. Everything quietened down after that though, even if some of them would still come up to me and ask the incredulous "You beat Potter?" every now and then. It felt a bit uncomfortable, but I managed.  
  
Snape came to see me that Sunday, doubtlessly because of the duel. I was called into his office to speak in private with him, and sat there on a chair in front of his overly impressive desk and waited for him. Sometimes, I think that teachers have large desks just to frighten students into believing they're in trouble. I wasn't, so I didn't feel the slightest bit nervous. If Snape was going to threaten me, I could always talk my way out of it. I was good at talking. I'd been sitting there for about half an hour when Snape finally entered the room and swept up behind his desk. He looked at me with those black eyes of his, with no expression at all.  
  
"You duelled Potter." It wasn't a question.  
  
"Yes." I nodded.  
  
"You won." Yet another non-question. He was good at those.  
  
"Yes." Well, there wasn't much else to say, was there? I'd duelled, I'd won, end of story.  
  
"I would give you detention for duelling Potter," He leaned forward, "But I won't, as Vincent has informed me that it took place in class, by his permission."  
  
"By his choice not to interfere more like," I retorted, "He didn't stop us. Potter went too far, and I asked him to a duel. I won. I felt like I'd been trampled by a herd of wild hippogriffs afterwards, but win I did. Professor Lucas stepped back and let me handle it."  
  
"Hmm. He told me the duelling class was your idea to begin with," Snape raised an eyebrow-  
  
"It was. I shouted a bit at him, or so he says, about how useless what he had been teaching us would be if we were ever faced with a Manticore, and that was that basically." I shrugged. "Was there a point to this conversation?"  
  
"I'm going to give you thirty points for Slytherin," He informed me, "For proving sufficient knowledge of spells and the fine art of duelling. And for beating Potter." He added it as an afterthought.  
  
I nodded, waited for a moment for him to say anything else, but when he didn't, I got up and left. Thirty points. Thirty points for beating Potter. Amazing really; I could've broken twenty school rules and gotten detention, but I'd managed to be cunning and get away with it by following all rules. Sometimes, it was good being a Slytherin.  
  
The duel had left me drained, physically as well as magically. The sheer intensity of Potter's powers was enough to leave me winded, but I knew I was stronger than that. Perhaps not stronger in force, but in capability of using what I had. Most of the pains I'd gotten had faded after about two- three hours, but a persistent headache remained even on Sunday, over twenty- four hours later. It wasn't a big headache; it was just behind my eyes and at the back of my head, and it was constant. That was the annoying part; that it was there all the time. Some more sleep ought to take care of it.  
  
And so I slept my Sunday away.  
  
********'  
  
The week was passed on routine and nothing else. My headache hadn't disappeared, but I didn't want to go to Madam Pomfrey. She'd likely assume it was due to my cold and pitch me out the window. So I wandered through my days with a constant headache, trying to keep away from the evilly glaring Gryffindors who seemed to be hiding behind every corner. Ever since my duel with Potter, they'd been glaring at me and insulting me at every possible time; they didn't attack me though, which I had to credit their instinct for survival for. No one attacks the person who had just out-duelled the Boy-Who-Lived, did they?  
  
Potter seemed to accept it though, despite his put-off expression. No one likes being beaten, and he was no different. Weasley was down-right furious, while Granger took it reasonably. I like reasonable people; they don't kill you without a good reason first. I would have talked to them, if I'd had the energy, which I didn't. I was much too preoccupied with my studies, head-deep into an Arithmancy chart that needed doing before the first of October. Sixth year was, if possible, even worse than fifth when it came to the work-load. And my headache certainly didn't help.  
  
The weeks passed in a blur, and I watched as Draco and Pansy argued more frequently, as Millicent sat in a corner and watched the ever so clueless Gaspar Montague, and as Cain finally seemed to be making some friends of his own age. The duelling championship was on again, although I, as last year's champion didn't have to participate. The finalist would meet me in the final round, some time next term. So I mostly sat curled up in a chair close to the fire and worked on either my homework or read a book I'd found interesting. I wondered, not for the first time, if someone sitting on the wooden beams that criss-crossed the ceiling of our Common Room would notice the pattern that played itself out every day. It was an elaborate dance, with its participants moving along a pattern decided for time. If someone would break it, the whole dance would change. A strange way to look at things, sure, but the only way to understand Slytherin internal politics.  
  
I fled to the library most of the time though; I couldn't stand having Draco and Pansy argue over trivial things that shouldn't have annoyed either of them. It seemed their picture-perfect relationship wasn't going to last much longer. It was odd; I'd always assumed they'd graduate and marry, but that just goes to show that you can't really be certain of anything. The library was a perfect place to escape the insane conspiracies and plots that seemed to thrive in the Slytherin Common Room. I buried myself at the back of it with my nose in a book. It was fiction, just to relax my mind. A story about vampires, and how they struggled to co-exist with mortals, or as they called them; snacks.  
  
I'd been sitting there for quite some time, getting immersed in the mind of Dante, the book's leading character, when I heard someone else approaching. I rolled my eyes and hoped it wasn't a Gryffindor looking for trouble; every time I tried to use magic, my headache would return. Maybe I had over- exerted myself during that duel, and it would take time to return to normal again. Whatever it was, it was annoying.  
  
As it turned out, it was a Gryffindor, but not one looking for trouble. Granger came around a bookshelf, and stopped abruptly. She'd been talking to herself, but in too low a voice for me to hear her properly. Apparently she thought I'd heard her and just stood there, paralysed. I raised my eyebrow before returning to my book. I certainly had more interesting things to do than stare at a Gryffindor. Especially this Gryffindor.  
  
I could hear her move around among the shelves, looking for something and apparently not finding it. She muttered under her breath, and caught odd words here and there but didn't manage to get any sort of sense of them. Annoying little girls who had to come and disturb me when I was reading. The library was there so that the students could get some peace and quiet, goddamn it, not so that they could be disturbed all the time. The only good thing the situation provided was proof that she wasn't scared to death of me. I don't like people squeaking like mice and running away from me because they're afraid. I didn't know why I didn't like granger being afraid of me, but since she wasn't, it hardly mattered.  
  
"Um, Zabini?" Amazing, she dared to speak in my presence.  
  
"What?" I mumbled back, not looking up from my book.  
  
"You don't happen to know what happened to the Muggle fiction they kept here, do you?"  
  
"It's over here, on the lowest shelf," I said, waving vaguely behind me. "Pince moved it since nearly no one reads it anymore."  
  
"Good. Thanks; it's been ages since I read something Muggle," She replied as she walked over behind me and stooped down to peruse the shelf. "Hopefully they keep some essential classics here."  
  
She rambled on, and I could do nothing but listen to her. It was almost funny how she rambled about nothing that I was ever interested in. Maybe it was because she was nervous, or just because she felt like talking. Whatever the reason, she talked about nothing. Or rather, Muggle fictional classics. Apparently, there were many of them.  
  
"Ah, here it is; Lord of the Rings, the best fiction ever written," She stood up again, grinning before sitting down across from me. "It's been over a year since I read it last. It's been too long."  
  
Against my will, I was interested. From the sound of her, it was nothing short of religious the reverence she held for that book. It was a heavy book too; not that I was surprised. Granger was the sort of person who would read "Anecdotes of Great Accountants," which came in twenty seven bands, at about three hundred thousand words, just for a bit of light reading. Whatever book could make her this interested though, had to be a good one.  
  
"What's it about?" I found myself asking.  
  
"Oh, it was written by a Muggle, so his ideas about magic are a little different, although not much," She looked incredibly enthusiastic, glad to discuss the book perhaps, "It's set in a world that doesn't really exist, and is about this group of people who have to destroy a certain object, a ring, to ensure that the world doesn't end. Well, there's a lot more details in the book, and there's these huge wars too, but that's the gist of it."  
  
"Interesting," I mumbled.  
  
She smiled, somewhat nervously. Talking to a Slytherin wasn't part of her normal behaviour, even if she'd spoken to me before. I scratched my wrist absently, returning to my own book. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Granger jump slightly. She gathered up her things and stood up, before heading for the door. I stared after her. One second she'd been talking to me about some Muggle book, and the next she's heading out the door as if the devil's after her. All I'd done was scratch my arm; what was she, afraid of skin diseases? Odd. Definitely odd. I'd have to look into that some other time. Maybe Granger had a phobia I didn't know about.  
  
I packed up my things as well and left the library, nodding to Madam Pince. I turned down the corridor, heading back to the Slytherin Common Room. It was now the second week of October, and All Hallows Eve was coming up at the end of the month. It had always been an important day at Hogwarts, as the ghosts felt it was their time of year. Even the Bloody Baron livened up around the end of October, though not by much. He didn't growl when you approached, and that was about as much as you could expect from him.  
  
Tomorrow, it was time for another Defence lesson. It seemed that after my duelling of Potter, Lucas had decided that I wasn't as bad as I was made out to be. Apparently, he could tolerate me now. We weren't best friends, and we never would be, even if I lived long enough to graduate, but I didn't spend my afternoons arguing with him. I didn't want to argue with someone who had weird abilities. That appearing-out-of-thin-air trick he'd pulled on the first lesson wasn't half of it. There's the freaky eyes, the almost encyclopaedic knowledge of the Dark Arts and Defence, and that frightening little smile he's got going. I had wondered more than once where he'd learned it all. Too bad he refused to talk to anyone outside class and sat by himself even at meals.  
  
****'  
  
The Common Room was just as I had left it. Millicent and Gaspar were now playing chess, or attempting to, while Draco and Pansy had another of their blazing rows. I listened to it with half an ear as I came in through the entrance. It appeared to be about ties. Pansy using Draco's tie without permission, or something like it. Forcing myself not to scream out loud at them, I put my book down on a nearby table, and headed in their direction.  
  
Cain, who was sitting next to a small girl and a boy with glasses, looked at me as I passed. He looked nervous. Who wouldn't be when the two most infamous members of the Slytherin House in modern time were having the row of the century? Confronting Draco when he was upset was generally considered a bad move, but at the moment, I didn't care. I had a headache, and their screaming wasn't making it any better. Besides, I hadn't gotten my normal dose of caffeine that morning, and wasn't in a good mood. The other Slytherins stepped out of my way as I walked up to Pansy and Draco, who were still shouting at each other. I stood there for a moment, neither of them noticing me, before I took a deep breath and screamed.  
  
"Shut up!" I roared.  
  
Both of them jumped and spun around to stare at me. Then, both of them started talking at once. I clapped my hands over my ears, and shut them out. I took another deep breath, trying to calm down, before replying.  
  
"Shut up!" I shouted again, "Just shut up! Why are you two standing in the middle of the Common Room, screaming your heads off at each other?"  
  
"She took my tie without asking," Draco snapped, glaring at Pansy.  
  
"He said yesterday I could!" Pansy snapped back, "So he shouldn't come here and tell me I can't!"  
  
"Are you two seriously fighting over ties?" I asked in disbelief. I couldn't believe it; even though it had sounded that way when I entered the room, it was just too childish for either of them. "I can't believe you! If you start picking fights over something so petty, why are you still dating? Getting along is a big part of it, you know. But, of course, knowing the two of you and your cursed pride, I guess I shouldn't be surprised you can't apologise and admit you were wrong."  
  
Both of them had the decency to look embarrassed. Sometimes, I wondered why it had fallen to me to look after them like some kind of nanny. Maybe it was because Millicent is distracted at the moment, or maybe it was because I ran out of patience. Whatever it was, I was now standing there with the two of them looking like little children who were being blamed for the missing cookies. I turned on my best You-Shall-Burn-In-Hell glare and crossed my arms for better effect. Draco actually cowered.  
  
"I have had it with you two screaming at each other over something as small and petty as ties, or shoes, or who gets to go to dinner first," I continued my rant. I was working myself up, and this time, I wasn't going to be stopped. "Either you stop it right now, or you break up. It's that simple. I won't stand by and watch as you destroy each other, one bit at the time. If you end it now, fine, if it continues, and I hear you fight over nothing one more time, I'll personally pitch you out the bleeding window!"  
  
At the end of my rant, I was screaming at them. Everyone in the room had stopped what they were doing just to watch the spectacle. Three parts of the Slytherin Four in a fight wasn't something that happen every day, and so it was entertaining to watch. I tried to ignore them and the deafening silence that ensued, and concentrated on Draco and Pansy. By the time I was through with them, they would be crawling on the floor, begging for forgiveness.  
  
"I have a headache, and your shouting is only making it worse. I haven't had nearly enough coffee today, and if you even breathe loud in my presence, I won't be handing out any warnings." I threatened them, which was often the only thing that worked, "Do I make myself clear?"  
  
"Yes." They mumbled in chorus.  
  
"Good." I gave them a final glare before I walked away, and headed up the stairs to my dormitory.  
  
During the rant, my headache had escalated, and was beginning to get unbearable. The whole day had been unbearable. First, Draco and Pansy not talking, and then the confusing flight that Granger had done from the library, and then having to scream at Draco and Pansy when they fought, and then the people constantly congratulating me on beating Potter. No matter how much I enjoyed having beaten Potter, the attention was getting a bit too much, and I really rather they'd leave me alone. I needed sleep.  
  
I pulled the curtains of my bed shut, and curled up under the covers. My bed was cold, and I ran my hands up and down my arms, trying to work up some warmth. That's one of the flaws of living in a dungeon; no matter what the time of year, it's always cold. And not just average cold, but freezing. At night, when I wasn't close to the fire, or moving around, I was cold. In the winter, if I wasn't careful, my fingers turned blue from the cold. I envied the Hufflepuffs, who have the cosiest Common Room in the castle and the most secret entrances. Unfair, that's what it was. The Ravenclaw Tower wasn't too bad either, from what the few Ravenclaws I spoke with said. It was totally unfair that I should be stuck with the coldest.  
  
I lay there for a while, staring at the curtains, before my eyes drifted shut and I wandered off to sleep. 


	11. Projects Mess Things Up

Hello there. Sorry for the long lapse in updates, but hopefully, this chapter will make up for it. Thank you all for your reviews; I really love reading them.  
  
*****'  
  
Draco and Pansy's relationship had fallen apart, Millicent ha gotten absolutely nowhere in her quest for Gaspar, and all I had was a splitting headache and the knowledge of Granger's skin-disease-phobia. Not exactly what you'd all a successful week. It wasn't even a successful term, come to that. The only thing which hadn't gone wrong was getting Cain some friends. And that was truly the only thing. Not even Professor Lucas could stand me. The only reason to why he hadn't pitched me off the Astronomy Tower yet was because he wouldn't ever get away with student-murder with Dumbledore around.  
  
Professor Lucas, now that was certainly the oddest teacher we'd had in a while. Where others had been strange, secretive, vile, or just plain crazy, Lucas was odd. Red eyes, looks like the most genuine vampire would be jealous of, and that freakish ability to just disappear, were only a few items on a rather long list. I still had to find out more about him before I could feel even remotely safe in his class. Too bad no one seemed to know anything about him. I had, in my spare time, gone through old records of Hogwarts, to see if he'd gone to school here, but the record-keeping of the school was less than good. Several years were missing, only half-complete and some were copies of others, just kept under a different year. Either Hogwarts was a permanent time-loop, or previous librarians had been disorganised. Our years, and every year that Irma Pince had been librarian of Hogwarts were perfectly organised and all there.  
  
But those from the first war, and a few years before that, were sketchy at best. Snape's yearbook was split down the middle when it came to attendance; it was two hundred pages thick according to the index, but only half of the pages were filled. Most of the Slytherin House were missing, as well as a good number of Ravenclaws, and it looked as if someone had torn the pictures out in a rage. I noticed that Snape wasn't in any picture, except one; where he was standing in the background, behind a group of Hufflepuffs, looking sulky. And Lucas was nowhere to be found. I'd checked everywhere, but no Vincent Lucas. By the time I had upended the whole library, I left in a rather angry mood. I don't like being left with no answers. Hell, this time, I didn't even know what the question was.  
  
I had run in to Granger a few more times after that incident in the library when she just upped and left. Turned out it wasn't just a one-time occurrence either. Every time I came across her in the corridors, or in the Great Hall, or even the library, alone, she stared at me, squeaked and ran for it. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why; I hadn't done anything to her. Ever. The constant oddness of Granger's disappearances, Lucas' behaviour and the overbearing ache of my poorly abused head was getting the better of me, and I steadily got more and more irritated.  
  
And so, in the middle of my growing irritation, Defence class rolled around again. Halloween was only a few days away, and everyone was getting jittery. Even in Lucas' class, where everyone were usually at perfect behaviour, most of the class were goofing off like a group of kids. That morning, I'd gotten up and my headache had been worse than normal. Not even five cups of coffee had helped it. In the chattering and bubbly atmosphere of the Defence classroom, I was trying to catch up on my sleep with my forehead against the desk. If I didn't get up soon, I would have permanent ink-imprints on my skin. Too bad my self-discipline wasn't what it had been.  
  
"Good day class," Lucas sounded amused. "If all of you would please sit up straight and look at me, I would be glad."  
  
Ouch. Stab at me, that was. But I straightened up and unstuck the parchment from my forehead. I must have looked like a complete moron, judging from the snickers I heard from the Gryffindor side of the room. They were rather quiet though. Either it was Lucas being intimidating or my reputation of beating Potter that did it. Whatever was causing my cursed headache felt as if there was a swarm of bumblebees buzzing around in my scull. Not a pleasant feeling at all.  
  
"I'm sure you know that all students have to do a rather large project in each of their classes in sixth and seventh year." Lucas sat on his desk and started his usual ramble. "These projects have been spread out so that you won't have to sit up all night with seventeen different things you'd rather do, having to finish them two days before exams. I know I had enough of a hassle trying to finish them to ever put you under such circumstances. Though Mr Zabini seems to have managed that quite well himself."  
  
I raised my eyebrow, and pulled off an almost perfect expression of indifference. If he would just stop rambling and actually get to the point, the lecture might even have been interesting.  
  
"You will, today, begin your Defence Against the Dark Arts project. You will however not work on it alone. I am not so cruel as to force you to endure those sleepless nights, those caffeine highs and and those sleep deprivation induced depressions alone. Going crazy is best done in company. So, I will be paring you up," Groans and mutterings broke out over the room, and he held up his hand to stave them off, "And no amount of complaints will make me let you choose for yourself. You will get this lesson to talk about it, but come next week you will have to have decided on a topic. This project will account for most of your final grade this year."  
  
Then he started calling out names two and two. I rolled my eyes. With my luck, I'd end up with Potter and have to do all of it myself, getting addicted to sleep in the process. One addiction was enough, if I had any say in it. But of course, being me, I didn't. Gah. Lucas hated me enough already for me to complain the slightest about who I got paired with.  
  
"Zabini and - Bones? Where's Bones? Has anyone seen Bones?" I looked up and scanned the room for her.  
  
"She's in the infirmary with a cold sir," One of the Hufflepuffs piped up. The blonde one with pigtails, I think her name's Abbott.  
  
"Ah. Well. No matter; I'll fix that later." Lucas made a quick note, and continued rattling off names. I wondered for a moment if he'd forgotten about me, but realised I must have ended up with Bones anyway, even if she wasn't here. Not too bad, all things considered. Could be worse. I glanced over at Potter and Weasley. Could definitely be worse.  
  
The lesson continued in much the same fashion. Turned out that Terry Boot was off sick too. Granger didn't look too happy about that; maybe she had a crush on her project partner. Who knew? And for that matter, who cared? Everyone left, except for myself and Granger, to look for exciting projects. I remained seated, partly because class hadn't ended yet, and partly because I thought a lot better when I was sitting down. Granger seemed to think along the same lines, and was slow in gathering up her things and leave. Absently, I tugged at my sleeve, adjusting it slightly. Granger quite scared me when she spun around. Her eyes locked with mine for the fraction of a second, and I could see fear, shock and something I couldn't determine. I didn't even have time to blink before she had high- tailed out the door.  
  
"Wha-. "I let my hand fall back to its original position on the desk, "What the heck did I do?"  
  
"I haven't the faintest," Lucas replied, staring after Granger just as I was, "She does that often?"  
  
"All the time," I nodded, "And I can't figure out why; I move one fraction of an inch, and she ups and runs away. Bloody annoying it is too."  
  
Lucas raised his eyebrow. My outburst seemed to amuse him no end, but being Lucas, he didn't even crack a smile. Those freakish red eyes just looked at me and that cursed eyebrow stayed raised as I gathered up my things. I could have sworn I saw him flashing a grin to himself as I turned my back on him.  
  
"There has been a slight rearrangement in the plans," Lucas said, clearing his throat. "Due to, hrm, unforeseen circumstances, Bones and Boot never turned up for this lesson. And, also due to these unforeseen circumstances, neither you nor Granger had your partners to plan with. And, this is completely out of my hands you must understand, you and Granger were forced to pair up for this project. All with no blame on either me or either of you. There was nothing I could do about it. I was under a holy oath to pair up every student in my class. There is also nothing you can do about it. Understand?"  
  
"Not.... Really." I admitted. What was he on about? Unforeseen circumstances? He had bloody planned this, he had.  
  
"No need. Suffice to say it all comes down to House loyalty." Lucas permitted himself a tiny smile. "And if Granger asks, tell her it was a last minute rearrangement of plans, due to certain events. Now, go and chase her down, Zabini. She's already got a head start on you."  
  
I blinked. And blinked again. And, just for good measure, I blinked again. House loyalty, meaning Lucas had been a Slytherin. But what did House loyalty have to do with me working with Granger? Giving up on ever comprehending Lucas, I set out to find Granger. She couldn't be too far ahead, since she'd only left the classroom some two minutes ago.  
  
******'  
  
Stairs had a habit of knocking people over it seemed. I found Granger sitting on the stairs, trying to put all her books back in her bag, swearing to herself. I could hear her from the other end of the corridor, ranting about stairs, book bags and, oddly enough, Death Eaters. Maybe Draco had tripped her; everyone seemed to think he was in the Death Eater Youth League. She stared at my offered hand for a moment, before taking it and hauling herself back up onto her feet again.  
  
"'Lo there Granger. Who tripped you?" I asked, trying to find a topic of conversation as innocent as possible.  
  
"No one. I wasn't watching where I was going," She snapped, "Did you want something, or did you just happen to drop by?"  
  
"Actually," I said, a bit surprised at her waspish reply, "Lucas sent me running after you left. He's rearranged the project-pairings due to unforeseen.... circumstances...."  
  
I slowed down at the end of my sentence, as the full force of what Lucas had implied in his rearrangement hit me in the back of my head like a rouge Bludger. He couldn't have meant that, could he? But he could. He actually had. Cripes, wasn't this the best realisation ever; my Defence teacher was stark raving mad. Granger looked at me curiously; I knew I had to look rather silly with my "I-can't-believe-it!" look. She waved her hand in front of my face, back and forth, a few times, just to test my sanity.  
  
"Zabini, are you still all here?" She asked.  
  
"No," I replied faintly, "I think my sanity went out the window along with Professor Lucas' grip on reality. In fact, had it not been for my healthy dose of coffee earlier today, the nice men in white suits would be coming for me with a new shirt already."  
  
"You're delirious." She said, snapping her fingers in front of my nose, trying to get a reaction, "What was it you wanted?"  
  
"Lucas rearranged the pairs, as I said. Since neither Boot nor Bones were in attendance, it seems we got stuck with each other," I pulled myself together. "And before you rip my head off and serve it to Potter on a silver plate, I want you to know none of this was my idea."  
  
I tried to look as innocent as possible, but it looked as if Granger wasn't really believing me. This was not shaping up to be a good day, but then again, no day had been good since the start of term. From the looks of it, there wouldn't be a good day till I graduated. Granger just kept looking at me suspiciously, and I had had enough. This was it; I wasn't going to take it any more. If she wanted to be suspicious, fine, but she wasn't going to take it out on me. I sat down on the steps and twiddled my thumbs, waiting for her to say something.  
  
"This is just great," Granger sighed, and sat down as well.  
  
"Not really."  
  
"No. But there's no choice."  
  
"Yeah. We've no choice."  
  
Amazing, really; we were agreeing, and we hadn't even been around each other for very long. Maybe Granger had gotten over her fear of skin diseases. Would be nice, not having to work with someone who ups and runs away at the sight of you. Would have been nice working with Bones too, but Hufflepuffs are such pushovers. It would have been like attacking a pudding with a sword. Insane, ridiculous, and ultimately pointless. Granger at least would put up a bit of a fight before going down. Who knew; it might even be fun.  
  
"Lucas is insane." I pointed out.  
  
"You don't say?"  
  
"Oh, I do."  
  
"Hrm."  
  
Silence once more. Weren't we the most eloquent people in the world? At any moment now, Potter and Weasley would come looking for her, and Millicent would come looking for me, and our moment of absolute and utter agreement would be over. Good that; it was getting on my nerves a bit. I wasn't supposed to agree so completely with a Gryffindor, and Granger of all people. I needed, no, craved another cup of coffee. But we needed to arrive at a decision some time soon.  
  
"What are we going to work on though?"  
  
"Don't know."  
  
"How about we meet in the library later and decide?" I kept staring at my feet. I was nervous, just waiting for her to jump at me and tear me limb from limb. You never know what to expect with Gryffindors after all.  
  
"Why the library?" Once again, she was suspicious. What did she think? I would lure her into the library and kill her; she was annoying, not horrible enough to kill in the book stacks. "Because that's where all the books are?" I raised my eyebrow.  
  
"Ah." She had the grace to look embarrassed. "Sorry."  
  
"What for?" I mumbled, "We're all out of it lately. I haven't slept properly for weeks."  
  
"Try months, and you'd be closer," Granger shook her head.  
  
"I've got to get some coffee. I'll see you in the library." I said, standing up.  
  
Right. First confrontation of the day, won. Now I had to find Millicent, a cup of coffee, and catch up on my Charms homework. I could feel Granger's eyes boring into my back as I went. Couldn't blame her really; I would have been rather confused too, if I was her. I had to make some plans to, before I went to bed. Next confrontation would be extermination of Vincent Lucas. Maybe I could drown him in the lake. Maybe I could trick him into snogging Trelawney. Heavens knew that was enough of a shock to kill anyone.  
  
*******'  
  
"Snap."  
  
The smoke cloud was choking, and I coughed with tears in my eyes. Exploding Snap, while not the most complicated games on the planet, has its appeals. No other game, wizard or Muggle, gives the opportunity to see the cards explode in your opponents' faces like Exploding Snap. Wiping my tears away, I reshuffled the cards. Even though it was a children's game, Exploding Snap had always been a common pastime among Slytherins. It trained hand-eye- mind coordination, something all of us thought important. And, playing with Millicent, it was a fair share of winning and losing.  
  
"And the game is mine," Millicent smiled like a cat.  
  
"So it is. Rematch?" I questioned.  
  
"Don't think so. I've got some homework to finish before tomorrow," She wrinkled her nose.  
  
"Millie!" I whined.  
  
She threw the exploded cards on me. I was about to throw some back at her, when I caught a glance at the clock above the fireplace. And nearly had a heart attack. I'd told Granger to be on time in the library, after dinner. Which was now, and I was sitting in the Common Room, playing cards. She would have my head if I was late; never mind Slytherins, Gryffindors were the really frightening people of Hogwarts. Granger was downright frightening when she was mad, and mad she would be if I was late. I got up and was running for the door as soon as I was on my feet.  
  
"Blaise! Where are you going?" Pansy called after me.  
  
"Library, closing time, I'm late!" The words came out in a jumble, nowhere near any semblance of order, as I nearly crashed into the door on the way out.  
  
Once again, I was running headlong along the corridors, heart racing and knowing, just knowing that I was going to be late. If I was late, Granger would tell Lucas, and then any pretences of House loyalty would be thrown out the window. Lucas had the complete wrong idea, and the idea he had was utterly revolting, but he'd shown that he didn't resent me any more, and I didn't want that to end for anything in the world. I was a dead man walking already. Skidding around a corner, I almost knocked McGonagall off her feet. A shouted apology over my shoulder was all I had time for; I didn't stop running for a moment. I could foresee large amounts of points be taken off Slytherin for my less than polite handling of the situation, but I couldn't care less.  
  
Thankfully, Granger must have been a bit late too, because she was only setting up her things on the table when I arrived, out of breath and with my tie loose. I must have made quite the picture, because she stared at me wordlessly for a moment, seemingly shocked. Then, in a move that surprised me completely, she picked up a tiny piece of parchment, screwed it up into a ball, and threw it at me. It hit me squarely between the eyes, and I could do nothing but stare at her in amazement.  
  
"Granger, what the sodding hell - ?" I managed. I could feel my self- control crumbling by the minute.  
  
"I just wanted to make sure it was you and not just some figment of my imagination," She shrugged, "You're early."  
  
"No, I'm not Granger, I'm - "I looked at my watch, "I'm early. How the – Don't tell me the clock stopped again! I just ran across the whole damn castle, knocked down McGonagall, and worsened my headache, and I'm early? Is there no justice in the world?"  
  
I was shouting by then, and everyone in the library, Pince included, were staring at me as if I'd gone crazy. Truth was, I was damn close. I collapsed in a chair and glared at Granger. All this was of course her fault. If she hadn't been so damn scary when she was mad, I wouldn't have run like crazy across the castle, and my headache wouldn't be so bad. And there they were, just staring at me as if hinkypunks had just landed on my head and raised a colony. For all I knew they could have; my hair was just as much of a tangled mess now that Granger's was.  
  
"Stop glaring Zabini, we've got a project to do," Granger snapped at me.  
  
"Alright," I pulled myself together, "What are we going to do it about then?"  
  
"Don't know. Any suggestions?"  
  
"The Grindelwald War?" I suggested, leaning back in my chair and plopping my feet on the table, "You know, the one back in the nineteen thirties and forties?"  
  
"The only war back in 1940 was World War II, Zabini," Granger wrinkled her brow disapprovingly, "Be serious for once."  
  
"I am!" I exclaimed, "Just because the Muggles were fighting a war at the same time doesn't mean it was the only war! In fact, some historians are convinced World War II was started as a cover-up for Grindelwald; some even say Grindelwald started it himself. Don't assume you know all the facts just because you're Muggleborn. I say we do a work on it, and specifically the Dark Curses he invented during that time. Serious enough for you, Granger?"  
  
She just nodded tightly and glared at me. I could tell she didn't enjoy being told she was wrong. Grudgingly, she picked up a book about Grindlewald and set to work. I followed suit some moments later when I'd finally calmed down. I could breathe normally, but it took a while before my headache diminished into its normal, annoying and constant state. The air was filled with the sound of paper rustling, quills scratching and the low buzzing mumble of students doing what students to best; pretend to study.  
  
*******'  
  
Ending Notes; shorter chapter this time, and a bit less coherent than I might have liked. Blaise seemed OOC in this chapter, even though he doesn't have a canon-character as such. I'll get better though, and I think I might even begin to see the plot in the next chapter. 


	12. All Hallow's Eve

I updated faster this time; hopefully, it will be just as fast next time.  
  
*****'  
  
All Hallows Eve. Halloween. The night when, traditionally, the border between the dead and the living was erased. The Bloody Baron had been almost cheerful for days before the holiday, even gracing us with a greeting when we came down the stairs. The Common Rooms were decorated with the most gaudy and tasteless colours and ornaments we could find, and the previously so green and silver Slytherin Den was a vision in purple, black and vomit yellow. Not the most festive of colours, but we didn't care. Halloween was, it was agreed among us, the most tasteless holiday of the season, so of course there had to be tasteless colours.  
  
Only rarely did I have as much fun as I did when we do the Halloween- decorating of our Common Room. It was a tradition started when we were second years, in an attempt from the prefects to cheer us up. Of course, back then it had been much more traditional with enchanted bats and pumpkin heads, but Slytherins never were quite like other Houses, so as the years went by, we put our own twist on it. While festive dolls in various colours, entitled vomit yellow, snot green and such delightful names, nailed up by their heads and dubbed with the names of our most hated enemies might not be everyone's idea of holiday decorations, it had become a sport among us to come up with the most tasteless decoration ever. So far, Marcus Flint and his infamous Guillotine of Terror were the champions.  
  
Of course, everyone was excited about the Halloween Feast as well. Visions of heaps of chocolate, pumpkin pasties and cauldron cakes was enough to make anyone's mouth water, and we were no exceptions. I couldn't concentrate on anything from the moment I woke up. I didn't even retaliate when Cain threw moth-balls at me. I would get the little rascal later though. Maybe I'd dunk him in the lake a few times when we sneaked out to Hogsmeade on our annual drinking binge. Not that we'd let him drink; not even in the Hog's Head did they serve alcoholic drinks to an eleven-year- old. They might try their luck with a sixteen-year-old, though, and I hoped I would be able to fool Madame Rosmerta to get me something less innocent than Butterbeer. One could always hope.  
  
"Blaise, the real world is calling you, and has been for the last five minutes!" Draco slapped my shoulder, and broke me out of my decoration- contemplations, "What're you thinking about? Girls? Please tell me it's girls."  
  
"Oh yes, I'm sitting here on Halloween and contemplating my love-life. In fact, I was just planning the next rendezvous in my steamy love-affair with Granger," I replied dryly, wrinkling my nose. "No, I was thinking of whether to dunk Cain in the lake before or after raiding the Three Broomsticks. The little brat threw moth-balls at me."  
  
"Ye gods, for a moment I thought you were serious," Draco looked nauseated, "Imagine anyone snogging Granger. Bleargh! Anyway, we were leaving now, and wondered if you wanted to come back to this planet for a second or two and come with us."  
  
"Lessee.... Stay here, and stare at the walls," I cocked my head to one side, as if weighing my options, "Or go to the Halloween Feast and stuff myself sick on candy. Hmm, that's a hard choice."  
  
"Shut up," Draco suggested as we exited the gaudy Common Room.  
  
"Ah, stupidity, thy name is Draco," I chuckled.  
  
"Shut up!" Draco suggested with a little more force.  
  
I just winked at him. I hadn't felt this light-hearted in weeks, and I wasn't going to let Draco shut me up.  
  
******'  
  
Feasts at Hogwarts had always been good, and this year was no different. The gaudy, tasteless decorations, set up as a prank by Slytherins and a few Ravenclaws during the night adorned the Great Hall as well, and I could see Dumbledore delighting at them. That man never did have any sense. We Slytherins arrived fashionably late, and settled down amid the whispers and looks of the other Houses. We all silenced as Dumbledore stood up, preparing for his pre-Feast speech.  
  
"Welcome, everyone, to yet another wonderful feast!" He sounded just as mad as I remembered him always sounded at occasions like that, "As a personal favour to all the students this evening, and because Slytherin and Ravenclaw decided to cheer up the Great Hall with their festive decorations, I have extended the curfew tonight; by midnight you will have to be sleeping, I'm afraid. Twenty points to Slytherin and Ravenclaw for their wonderful decoration-skills."  
  
Slytherin's table erupted in wild cheers, and I had my back thumped by Malcolm Baddock, whom I barely knew and didn't like in the least. The Headmaster had give us, the total brats and scum of the school, points for a prank. It was unbelievable. Completely and utterly unbelievable – not only that, it was completely unheard of. After the celebratory throwing of hats and sneering at other people was over with, we settled in to listen again. His speech was far from over.  
  
"Yes, yes, well done Slytherin, well done Slytherin," He smiled at us. "I had hoped that we would be able to have a dance later on in the evening, but in light of recent events, that is, I'm afraid, impossible. Now, tuck in everyone!"  
  
In light of what recent events exactly? There hadn't been any attacks since last term and the Department of Mysteries. Deciding to puzzle over the mystery of the disappearing dance later, I grabbed the closest plate and piled chocolate onto the table in front of me. No need for proper table- manners; this was all about the chocolate. Next to coffee, chocolate is the best thing on the planet. When I'd downed most of a pitcher of pumpkin juice on my own, as well as a rather large plate of assorted candy, I looked around the Hall.  
  
Not everyone seemed to have the same good feast as I was. Potter looked as if he was going to throw up at any moment, and Granger was patting his back and trying to make him feel better. Weasley was stuffing his face as usual, but every now and then he'd say something to Potter and look just as worried as Granger. Something was definitely up with the three of them. It wasn't as if I could have missed it when we were trying to do something about our Defence project in the library. Granger had been jumpy and nervous, and kept looking at my wrist for some reason, when she thought no one was looking. Foolish Gryffindors never learn, do they? It was so bleeding obvious that it was impossible to miss. And I still hadn't figured out what exactly was the reason for her frequent flights from anywhere near me.  
  
She seemed almost afraid when she was alone in the same room as me. It was somewhat insulting. Not that I didn't enjoy having a Gryffindor scared of me, oh no, but I would have felt better if I knew the reason. Easier to exploit it that way. I was just figuring out a way to find out when Millicent chucked a Cockroach Cluster at me. It bounced off my ear and I turned my head. Hopefully, she hadn't seen me studying the Unholy Trinity. She could get so many ideas that one.  
  
"What?" I mumbled, still a bit distracted.  
  
"I said, when do we leave for Hogsmeade?" She looked annoyed with me.  
  
"I don't know. As soon as we can get out of here without being too obvious." I looked around, "Who's coming anyway?"  
  
"Well, you and me, obviously, then there's Draco, and Pansy. Daphne and Tracy said something about coming, but I don't think they will; they've been making eyes at the Ravenclaws all night. Crabbe and Goyle, well, they'll be doing what Crabbe and Goyle do best; follow Draco's orders. Which means they'll stay in the Common Room. They don't like sneaking out anyway. Baddock might be coming, I know Theo will, and Agnes. Anyone you want to add?" Millicent leaned back in her chair, having ticked them all off on her fingers.  
  
"Who's Agnes? I didn't know we had an Agnes." I pointed out, going through the list in my head.  
  
"Well, no one talks to Agnes, so that's no surprise. She's a third year," She nodded down towards the end of the table. A thin, sullen looking girl with long black hair and brown eyes was pushing some cauldron cakes around on her plate, and not talking to anyone. I remembered seeing her before, but never bothered to learn her name.  
  
"Is it a good idea to bring a third year?" I questioned, completely disregarding that I had thought to bring a first year.  
  
"Could be," Millicent shrugged, "She won't make a fuss. You can be sure of that. And she won't pass out under the tables; Lestranges are famous for their ability to hold their drink."  
  
"Lestrange?" Now I was impressed. I must have been asleep during the Sorting ceremony of our second year. Oh, wait. I was. I remembered Millicent poking me in the ribs to keep me awake. I must have missed Agnes. "Interesting. She been in any strange business yet?"  
  
"Nope," Millicent replied, putting some more pumpkin pasties on her plate, "She's odd really. Hasn't said much, or done much, just keeps to herself and does what she's told. Quiet type. Could be dangerous, but just as well be innocent and angelic."  
  
"No Slytherin is angelic, Millie," I grinned, "It's what makes us Slytherins."  
  
"Mmh. Anyone else you want to bring?"  
  
"I was thinking Cain, actually," I said, nodding towards the little boy. "He's lonely. Besides, I want an opportunity to dunk him in the lake."  
  
"A first year? Blaise, you're crazy. Agnes at least has permission to go to Hogsmeade; Cain doesn't have permission to go to the bathroom by himself." Millicent stared at me doubtfully.  
  
"Bah," I waved it away, "If push comes to shove, I can hide him under my cloak. He's small enough."  
  
"Hmmph." Millicent snorted and shook her head.  
  
Word was spread about the Hogsmeade visit among those who were going, and soon everyone on the rather short list knew. The only additions were a disgruntled Gaspar Montague and oddly enough Sarah Moon, who usually kept to herself. The listed Slytherins hung around the Great Hall for a little while longer, keeping up the appearances of enjoying the feast. As the younger Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors began to drop off and leave, a few of us rose as well and left quietly. The rest followed, in ones and twos, until we were all gathered in the Slytherin Common Room. Loitering in the halls was not a good idea with teachers patrolling them. At times like these, even Snape would assign detention to Slytherins if they showed up breaking rules. It was something of a principle.  
  
The actual breaking out of the castle was easy; all you had to do was go into the sixth year boys dormitory, and knock on the correct painting. The hidden exit surfaced just on the other side of the lake, not far from Hogsmeade, and not visible from the castle. Perfect for our excursion. In an effort to be less suspicious, we had changed from our customary robes to something less formal. I ended up in my father's soot-stained old shirt and a pair of black trousers I found in Draco's wardrobe. I almost had a seizure when I saw the rest. Their idea of casual clothing was in some cases hideous, in some cases outright laughable. But, it wasn't as if Madame Rosmerta wouldn't recognise us. It was just that if we wore something else than our robes, she could blame it on that if she ever got accused with serving alcohol to minors. Weird system, but it worked.  
  
Our group occupied two tables in the Three Broomsticks, but weren't the loudest by far. It was someone's birthday, or bachelor-part or whatever, and they were all in the Three Broomsticks, celebrating. After about half an hour, they began walking around among the other patrons, being obnoxious. Someone threw clothes at our table, and was just about to invade our personal space when Millicent hissed at them, snarling like an enraged animal. I unburied myself from the pile of clothing I'd received, mostly thrown over my head, and glared at the drunks. A black top hat had managed to land just over my glass, and I wasn't in a happy mood. Ignoring the requests to get the clothing back, I put the hat on my head.  
  
"Finders keepers," I told Millicent when she raised her eyebrow. "If those idiots find it fit to throw hats at me, then I'll keep them. If life gives you lemons, make lemonade. If life gives you hats, make an impersonation of Jack the Ripper."  
  
"It suits you, in a mad-aristocrat kind of way." Pansy grinned, "Makes you look handsome even."  
  
"Mhm, right," I mumbled, "A top hat and enough drinks and I'm handsome. Maybe I'll try that next time I try to pick up a girl."  
  
"You do that," Draco snickered. He was getting plastered on the firewhiskey he'd managed to charm off Madam Rosmerta, and would laugh at anything.  
  
"And the sarcasm just went way over your head and out the window, didn't it?" I questioned and I looked around for Cain. He should be around somewhere, and I wanted to make sure no one had spiked his drink. Somehow I felt responsible for the kid, and didn't want to see him with a massive hangover courtesy of his not-so-friendly classmates.  
  
I could see Theo and Agnes talking quietly to each other, and Cain was asleep on the table next to them, but it didn't look like anything else than plain exhaustion. Gaspar was sitting next to Millicent, still so oblivious it made me want to strangle him. How could he not see the obvious devotion in Millicent's eyes? One day, I would have to talk to that boy. Draco and Pansy seemed to get along better when plastered, and didn't fight at all. Baddock had stayed back at Hogwarts, too scared of his good reputation with the teachers to risk a trip to Hogsmeade. Who else was there? Oh yes, Moon. She wasn't at the tables.  
  
There was commotion outside, and some shouting, and I got to my feet and headed out to investigate. Most of the group followed me, wondering what was going on. It wasn't often that there were brawls outside the Three Broomsticks. The Hog's Head, yes, but not the Three Broomsticks. I pushed the door open, wondering if it was Moon getting trouble from the local drunks, and froze. Millie pushed me outside, and I stumbled through the doorway, still stunned. I could hear gasps and whispered oaths behind me, but I just couldn't take my eyes off the scene in front of me.  
  
A horrible greenish glow rested over the street. The commotion and shouting was gone, and the horrible silence it left behind was somehow worse. The street was bathed in the greenish glow, and in it I could see every detail. Footsteps in the mud, a necklace ripped to pieces. And in the air, the Dark Mark, hovering like a carrion-bird over a battlefield. An all too familiar scene for most adults, and a scene I in my futile hopes wished that I never would have to get used to. Death Eater attacks.  
  
"Oh Merlin, that's Sarah's necklace." Someone whispered behind me. I felt nauseous.  
  
People were moving behind me, talking to each other loudly and in whispers, repeating themselves. I heard someone mention Hogwarts and Dumbledore, and then Millicent's voice insisting they tell Snape immediately. Someone choking back tears, afraid to let them out in front of others. My legs had given way under me, and I was kneeling in the mud, Moon's necklace in my hands. I didn't remember picking it up, but my mind was so hazy that I wasn't surprised.  
  
I raced through the events of the evening, trying to remember when Moon had gone out of the Three Broomsticks. All I could remember was a clear voice saying that she would go and drop by Honeydukes before we left. I hadn't noticed then, because I had been busy glaring that the party-goers. No one had stopped her. We all thought Hogsmeade was safe, even at night. It was too close to Hogwarts, too close to home. And it frightened me. It frightened me that they could snatch someone so close to us, this close to what we believed was safety. It frightened me that it had been Moon, who only half an hour or so previously had been sitting at the same table as me, drinking Butterbeer and laughing. It frightened me that I hadn't been able to see it coming.  
  
The war had claimed its first victim.  
  
I clutched the necklace in my hand and stood up slowly. I was covered in mud from the waist down, as well as the sleeves of my shirt, I was more than a bit tipsy, eyes red from the late hour and the alcoholic drinks, and my recently acquired hat was still on my head. I was as far from the picture of an immaculate Slytherin as you could get, standing there with the necklace in my hand, staring at it as if it was a life-line. Detachedly, I realised I was furious. But it was not the right time to act on it, and I turned back to my friends.  
  
"We need to get back. Tell Snape about this," I said, and everyone silenced. I hadn't even raise my voice, "We shouldn't have come here."  
  
The glass beads of Moon's necklace were cutting into my hand, and if I didn't let go soon I would be bleeding. Ignoring the pain, I looked around at my friends, to see if they were reacting at all to what I had said. Millicent looked devastated, and Gaspar was holding a hand on her shoulder. Pansy and Draco were standing next to each other, staring at the ground. Theo was shaking, looking pale even in the ghastly green light. Agnes was clinging to his hand and staring at the Dark Mark, no expression on her face. The only thing that betrayed her feelings was the white knuckles on her hand and the slight shaking of her shoulders. Cain, once more awake, was shaking like a leaf in a storm. Only eleven years old, and witness to the leavings of a Death Eater raid. I pitied him.  
  
Some of the villagers were dispatched to follow us back to the school safely and inform the Headmaster of what had transpired. I walked in the front of the group, holding onto Cain's hand. He was still shaking, and looking much younger than he really was. I was still in a daze, just putting one foot in front of the other, holding together solely because of long habit and routine. Moon's disappearance had shocked us all, and it would take a while for us to function like normal again.  
  
I didn't even dwell on the repercussions of our rule-breaking trip. I was much too shaken, and I could feel my self-control falling apart. Not even Snape would punish us for something like this. We would get a severe tongue- lashing for endangering students and being the cause of Moon's disappearance, but no detentions would be assigned, and no points taken. Not for something like this. The teachers had seen too many friends and family lost to Voldemort already for them to punish us for it. There was a war brewing. We had known, intellectually that this would eventually happen. But knowing and experiencing were two different things, and none of us, especially not me, had expected it to be like this. Not this close to home, not this personal.  
  
*****'  
  
McGonagall met us in the Entrance Hall, looking furious. She opened her mouth to deliver a scolding as soon as we stepped inside, but one look at us silenced her. We must have looked horrible. Hopeless, angry, broken, desperate, that was how I felt and from the looks of the others and the shaking of Cain's hand, they weren't much better. The Head of Gryffindor cleared her throat and opened her mouth once more to yell at us, but I got ahead of her.  
  
"Where's Snape?" I could hear my own voice, sounding so different than a few hours ago when Millicent and I were discussing Agnes Lestrange. Now, it was broken and harsh.  
  
"Mr Zabini, may I remind you that you have all broken curfew by several hours?" McGonagall ignored my question.  
  
"Where is Snape?" I hadn't raised my voice, but somehow the whip-crack of anger must have gotten through to her. "Bring him here now."  
  
McGonagall didn't like it, I could tell, but she turned on her heels and walked off to find Snape. The villagers looked nervous, even though most of them must have attended Hogwarts at some time in their life. I still hadn't let go of Cain's hand, though he didn't seem to mind all that much. Snape showed up after a few minutes of tense silence, took one look at our faces, and sent the villages running. Making a gesture for us to follow, he led us down to our Common Room. No one dared to breathe a word in his presence. Gathered in the various armchairs and couches in front of the fireplace, Snape finally looked at us again. It was clear that he was disappointed that we had let ourselves be caught, and by McGonagall of all people, but he knew better than to rant at us. Something had happened, and he wanted to know what it was.  
  
"Well, speak up! Why did McGonagall come and wake me up in the middle of the night?" He prodded, getting impatient.  
  
I threw Moon's necklace, now stained with some of my blood, on the table. It clattered loudly in the ensuing silence. I was tired, my headache was worse than normal, I was drunk, and the image of the Dark Mark floating in the sky was still burned into the inside of my eyelids. I would remember it till the day I died, of that I was sure. Opening my eyes again and fixing my gaze somewhere above everyone's heads, I began to talk.  
  
"We sneak out to Hogsmeade every year on Halloween, and this year was no different. We usually go to the Three Broomsticks. We leave after the Feast, only a few of us, to avoid being noticed. We'd dress in casual clothing to ease our way into the crowd." I kept my voice carefully monotone, and Snape nodded as I talked, "This year, it was Millie, Gaspar, Theo, Draco, Pansy, Agnes, Cain, Moon and myself. We'd been drinking for a few hours, and Cain had fallen asleep, when I noticed Moon wasn't there. At the same time, there was shouting from outside, and sounds of fighting. We went to investigate. All we found was Moon's necklace."  
  
Silence fell like a thick blanket over the group. Snape stared at the necklace silently, before picking it up and turning it over in his hands. He gestured for me to continue, knowing fully well that what I'd said wasn't everything. I cleared my throat, and after a few attempts, I managed to speak again. It was difficult to speak, my throat kept closing up, but somehow, I kept talking.  
  
"Sir, we saw the Dark Mark." My voice was dead. "She'd only been out there for a few minutes, and when we came out, all we found was her necklace and the Mark. How did they do it sir? Why this close to Hogwarts? How could they? This place is supposed to be the safest place in England; how did they get her?"  
  
Snape didn't answer, but behind his eyes, I could see the anger, the same anger I felt. The same anger all of us felt. Even though Millicent was sobbing on Gaspar's shoulder, and Cain was still shaking like mad, I knew all of us would tear the Death Eaters limb from limb given the chance. I was gripping my new hat so hard my fingers hurt, and I stared hopelessly at Snape. If anyone could explain to us, help us, make it right again, it was him. We trusted him completely, all of us. But it seemed even he was stumped. But then he looked up and surveyed us, Moon's necklace still in his hands. I could visibly see him making a decision. It might not have been a conscious one, but it was there.  
  
"I don't know," He answered my query, "I don't know how it happened, or who it was, but I do know why. The Dark Lord is rising, and as the last time, his rise will be marked with death and the disappearance of people. I saw this the last time. Once, near the end, he even took his victim right in here, in the Slytherin Common Room." He gestured to the fireplace, "Those abducted never came back, not in such shape that they were recognisable. They only ever found bits of Boulstridge. I didn't think it would come to this again, hoped it wouldn't. But it has, and I will not stand back and let my students be taken right out of my hands. You are no longer allowed to leave the castle without permission. If I find you outside the walls again, I will chain you up in the dungeons."  
  
He looked down on the necklace again, his knuckles turning white as he gripped it tightly.  
  
"One victim is one too many."  
  
*****'  
  
Ending Notes; this is what turns up on the page when you write and read the Durmstrang Chronicles at the same time. So far, I think it's one of the best chapters. 


	13. Aftermath

The first few days were hellish. Moon's disappearance had shaken us all, and put a wall of distance between us and the others. Slytherins understood well enough, but those who hadn't been there didn't feel the same rage, the same helplessness as we did. The other Houses knew of course; Dumbledore had informed them. I could see the Hufflepuffs' sympathetic looks as I walked down the corridor, the Ravenclaws' awkward silences when they didn't know how to handle things as they were. Gryffindors' surprised looks annoyed me somewhat. It seemed as if they didn't believe for one second that Moon had been taken.  
  
The glass beads of Moon's necklace had fallen off their string, and without even discussing it, all of us who had been at the Three Broomsticks that night divided the beads between us. We got one bead each. In a melodramatic moment, Pansy dubbed them Moon's Tears, and that nickname stuck. It was the only thing we had left after a girl who had lived in our dormitories for five years. Sarah Moon hadn't been the smartest, or the most cunning, or even the clumsiest. She was just plain and normal, but she had been one of us, and to have her snatched from our grasp like that was somehow more horrifying than if Draco or Pansy had been taken. The knowledge that anyone could be in danger was more frightening than I liked to think about.  
  
But in his cradle-snatching, the Dark Lord had made a mistake. The day he took Moon away from us, he lost whatever support he had in Slytherin. Some of the older students, who had already been ordered by their parents to side with Voldemort, took their letters from home and burned them. But some, too blinded by the lure of power, took Moon's abduction as a sign that Voldemort would win. The had made their choice, we had made ours. There was no plotting, no mistrustful sidelong glances. There was not words exchanged, no minds to convince. What was done was done. But from that night, Slytherin was not one, but two Houses.  
  
We stood divided.  
  
The rift between us would never be mended, that I knew. We could not turn back. Solidarity had never been our thing, but honour was. To come crawling back, asking for forgiveness and to be let within the fold of another group was beneath us all. No one would swallow their pride to that degree. I knew I wouldn't. Those who carried Moon's Tears all irrevocably turned their backs on Voldemort. Others joined us, but not all. The others kept in the opposite end of the Common Room. There was no longer any card-games at night, and the tournament had been cancelled. No one could concentrate on duelling friends and foes when Moon was gone.  
  
Lessons were cancelled, but only for two days, to give us some time to get over our tragic loss, as McGonagall termed it. After that, it was back to the normal routine. I welcomed it with open arms; one more day in our Common Room, sitting silently at the fireplace, wondering how to start talking about something that wouldn't hurt so damn much, and I would have gone crazy. I hadn't known Moon well; I had barely known her at all, but she had somehow always been there, smiling in the background. And the loss of her reminded me all too much of my personal loss. I didn't want to think about it, and so I wouldn't. I refused to.  
  
My mind was numb, and I spent my days when not in the Common Room pacing up and down the corridors, not thinking. The only lesson I really paid attention in was Defence, because I knew Lucas would have my head if I didn't shape up. Curled up in my seat, shoulder to shoulder with Millicent, we waited for our first Defence class since the attack. As the only Slytherins in the class, we kept close to each other. Ravenclaws attempted to offer condolences, but after the initial glares, they kept to the side. In a move that utterly surprised me, Susan Bones came up to us and shook both our hands.  
  
"I'm sorry for your loss, I know how you feel." She said before walking to her seat.  
  
I thanked her silently. When a Hufflepuff, and a well-liked Hufflepuff like Bones showed her sympathy for the devil, or rather the Slytherins, not even the Gryffindors dared to cause trouble with us. Weasley looked as if he wanted to say something, but looked away as Lucas entered. I sent Weasley one last glare before concentrating my attention on something more useful, like the lesson and Lucas for example.  
  
Lucas looked different, somehow. His hair, usually kept in that ridiculously long ponytail of his had come undone and hung down his back like a badly-kept rug. His red eyes were dull, and his shoulders were slumped. I supposed it was because of Moon's disappearance. Lucas had after all been a Slytherin. Though there was something definitely odd about that. He never showed up in the yearbooks, and my father, who had been to school at Hogwarts just two years ahead of Snape never mentioned Lucas. But of course, I hadn't seen him much over the last few years. Lucas marched up to his desk and turned to look at us.  
  
"Today will be just as any other day," He said slowly, as if having to stop and think before forming the words, "Even in light of what has happened, the Headmaster has come to the decision that all teaching shall be conducted as it always has been. However, you are no longer allowed to leave my sight during lessons, which makes our project difficult to complete. I have not yet found a way around this predicament, so today will be rather different from the lesson I planned."  
  
He settled down on his desk and sighed. Obviously unhappy with Dumbledore's orders, Lucas picked up one of the many books cluttering up his desk. Opening it on a random page, he appeared to be looking for something. The class was either too tired or too indifferent to say anything or protest because they weren't allowed to work on their projects, and sat on their chairs silently, not even bother to fidget. Lucas cleared his throat and began to read from the book, and I felt Millicent's hand creep into mine. I clutched at it, trying to reassure her silently. She had done little else but cry since Moon disappeared. But she would not break down in class; Slytherin pride would not allow it.  
  
"Curses are, one and all, created to trouble their victims in some way. Some confuse, some stun, some create pain that shakes the very bones and breaks the spirit. Curses are used to defend oneself, or to maim and hurt, but only a few can kill, or break the mind. These curses are most often filed under the name Dark Arts. Some people use these regularly, either in defence of themselves and others, or as a weapon." Lucas looked up from his text and watched us, as if he just realised we were there. "But no matter for which the purpose is, the Dark Arts preys on the mind and body. Long use of it changes appearance and mind. Only the strongest keep sane after regular use of the worst spells and Dark Arts."  
  
This new topic had potential to become interesting, depending on what exactly we were supposed to do. Hogwarts had one of the best Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum in the known world, but we never got to learn about the curses themselves, only how to make them harmless. Durmstrang was the exact opposite. But now, Lucas just might teach us the real way of everything. Know thy enemy and all, since he was so find of words. I refocused on him; he had continued speaking.  
  
"The Unforgivable Curses are only a fraction of all the Dark Arts of this world. The binding spells, blood rites, mind-controlling spells and mutilating hexes are all part of what you will be forced to defend yourself against in this war. And you will fight." The smile that flashed by was all other than happy, "I survived the last war, and I know what will happen. Children as young as fourteen were forced to fight for their lives on the battlefields. No one speaks of it now, because they are afraid, but that is the truth. And I don't want your blood on my hands, your lives on my conscience. It might be a war, but survivors are what counts, not the number of dead."  
  
"Well, we know it's a war, but what's this got to do with winning it?" Potter interrupted, "We need to learn spells and hexes, not talk about how horrible they are!"  
  
Lucas motioned for him to be quiet, not liking the interruption of his lesson. It didn't take a genius to figure that out. Partly, I agreed with Potter, something I would never admit to, but I could see the logic in talking about it instead of practising it. None of us, bar a few, were even ready to handle learning some of the defence-spells. Truth be told, we were ridiculously behind, all of us, though some of us had taken up extra- curricular activities that more than made up for it. For example, my knowledge of less-than-legal spells was damn near encyclopaedic by the time I was through both my personal library and the small one kept in the Slytherin Common Room. Millicent could recite Woddley's Sequence, the strongest defence against memory-blockage known to man, effortlessly. Potter was obviously unique in his encounters with Voldemort, and he was strong enough to defend himself no matter what was thrown at him, loath as I was to admit it, and Granger's bookworming had earned her knowledge she knew how to use. Bones, for all her Hufflepuff qualities, was tougher than she looked, and from eavesdropping I knew she'd earned an O in Defence. No one did that unless they knew what they were doing.  
  
But the rest, the rest were mediocre. Longbottom, was one of the names that surprised me, seeing as he was damn near a Squib, but he had made it this far without breaking. He'd make it another few paces. But he wasn't as good as sixth year students ought to be, had been before the terrible teachers came along. None of us were as good as we could be.  
  
"A good wizard, a wizard able to survive this upcoming war, will not only be able to hex and curse his foes, but also know when and why to do it." Lucas' voice remained steady, although his irritation was obvious. "If you have any objection to how I teach my subject, feel free to argue it with me, as Zabini did. But never disrupt my lesson again, Mr Potter, or you will be raking muck out of the Owlry till kingdom come."  
  
I looked away from the window at the mention of my name, and watched Potter sink back into his seat with rage written in his eyes. Lucas matched Potter's glare with one of his own, and he won. A few days ago, I would have smirked superiorly, at the sight of Potter's defeat, but I couldn't be bothered now. It had somehow grown unimportant to prove myself. My list made at the beginning of the term had been thrown in the waste-paper basket. It was almost funny, how something could change everything so fast. All that mattered now was keeping together, not falling apart on them.  
  
"And that, unfortunately, concludes our lesson for today." Lucas said, snapping the book shut suddenly. "Your homework is to pick out the one curse or spell you think is the worst, and argue for it. I will not set a length, but it is quality over quantity, you hear?"  
  
The class that came out of that lesson was a more controlled and subdued class than the one that went in. Something in Lucas's words had gotten through to them. Millicent and I were already more silent and subdued than the rest of them, but even I could see the truth in what he had said. I fingered the bead that I kept in my pocket, and tried not to think too much. It was a strategy I had gotten used to. I had avoided thinking about my father's death, and so I had avoided a nervous break-down. And it was working.  
  
********'  
  
The homework assignment was something to get my mind off things as they were, but it had proved harder than I thought it would. It was hard to choose, considering the disgusting imagination humans seemed to have when it came to hurting and maiming someone. Blood rites, binding someone to oneself, or hurting them, but taking some of their blood and keeping it. Binding Spells, bonding the victim to the caster's mind, giving the ability to almost control the victim. Bone breaking curses and the one nasty hex that turned ones innards inside-out. That one made me nauseous, with the descriptive pictures in the book. I was having a hard time making up my mind about which one to choose.  
  
I settled in with a book of mine, and tried to read it, but my mind was too scattered. I was working on auto-pilot, or whatever the Muggle term was. I'd heard it mentioned by some Ravenclaws once. It was almost as if I wasn't in control of my own actions. I reminded myself of somebody else. Somebody letting someone control their mind.  
  
My eyes snapped open. There it was. I knew exactly what to write about. Mind-controlling spells. Imperius, among others, were just the sort of spell or curse that everyone should fear more than anything. I nearly flew up from my seat and began a wild search for a quill and bottled ink, plotting out the argumentation in my head. It was going to be perfect, but I needed to research first. I knew there was something about Imperius in the House library downstairs. I raced down the stairs, dodged a rather put out Tracy Davies, and vaulted over the couch. I snatched the book from Agnes's grasp and ran back up the stairs.  
  
Flipping through the pages, I read as much as I could about how the Imperius worked. If it was going to be a good argumentation, it had to be based in fact. Stands to reason. I buried myself under the covers of my bed and read the book, all of it in one sitting, in less than three hours. It helped that I's read it before, and I got a lot of information on the curse, things I really rather I didn't know. I started jotting things down randomly, and didn't even look up when Draco entered. He stood in the doorway, observing my makeshift house, made out of blankets and pillows, and shook his head.  
  
"Agnes is furious, you know," He commented.  
  
"Let her be," I answered. "I need this for homework. She was only reading it for leisure. Oh, and about that; please shove off, I'm working."  
  
"Defence homework?"  
  
"How did you know?"  
  
"Millie's down in the Common Room, tearing out her hair trying to decide which curse to choose." Draco chuckled, "Quite funny to watch, really. Gaspar was going frantic trying to calm her down, so it was quite the show."  
  
"Hope Gaspar gets his head together and snogs her sometime soon," I mumbled while I flipped through the pages trying to look for the date of Imperius' creation. "Wonder if I could bash some sense into him with a book. Should make him less scatter-brained where Millie's concerned."  
  
"You're actually rooting for that relationship?" Draco sounded incredulous. He threw himself down on his bed and, propping his head up on his arms, stared at me in disbelief. "It's never going to happen. Millie's never had a boyfriend before, she won't know what to do with one if you threw Gaspar after her."  
  
"Then we'll throw her an instruction manual as well; she's a bright girl, she can read. She'll figure it out." I shrugged the best I could lying down. "Now shut up, I'm still working."  
  
Draco grumbled, but did shut up long enough for me to get somewhere with my essay. Darkness fell, and I'd missed dinner before I finally re-emerged from the deep Caverns of Dread, where the feared Homework lives and thrives on the minds of unsuspecting students. I returned the book to a rather annoyed Agnes Lestrange, patted Millicent's now less-than-fully-haired head and set off in search of the nearest coffee-cup.  
  
*****'  
  
I really shouldn't be walking in the corridors as this time of night and especially not alone, but I had missed dinner and I needed coffee and some food. There was plainly no living without it; there wasn't enough caffeine in my body to keep my heart beating. Besides, after having snatched a Slytherin, Voldemort wasn't probable to snatch another one from under Dumbledore's nose. Not in the dungeons, and not now, right after Moon. Why he ever snatched a Slytherin at all was a mystery to me; it had neatly separated what could be called "his" House in two. Sheer stupidity, in my opinion.  
  
Strolling down the corridors, I began to count the paintings. By the end of the first corridor, I was convinced there was enough paintings in Hogwarts to adorn the walls of a large house. After the second, I'd added an outhouse to that equation. After the third, a three-story house with an outhouse and a broom-shed. After the fourth, it was getting ridiculous. After the fifth and sixth, I'd gotten to three large houses and a flat in Paris. By then I had also reached the kitchen. Giving up on ever reckoning how many paintings there were at Hogwarts, I tickled the pear in the painting and entered the kitchen.  
  
"What is Master wanting?" A high pitched, almost squeaky voice asked from somewhere in the vicinity of my knees.  
  
"Coffee, and sandwiches." I said, sitting down in one of the ridiculously undersized chairs.  
  
The House Elf wandered off in the now rather dark caverns of the huge kitchen, humming what sounded like ´Mrs Widgery's Lodger´ on the way. A few other Elves were moving around in the darkness, muttering in their high- pitched voices amongst themselves, in a language I guessed was their own. The sandwiches as the coffee was soon on the table in front of me, and with a smile and a nod at the overjoyed Elf, I set to work. The sandwiches disappeared quickly, as did the coffee. I filled it up again at least three more times before I had had enough, and pushed the cup away. Immediately, the Elf was there to pick it up and carry it away, shining with happiness.  
  
House Elves were creepy. They always wanted to please and serve, but their happiness as they did so, and their absolute unquestionable loyalty to their masters who were often mistreating them was outright frightening. I left the kitchen as quickly as I could, and started back for the Slytherin Common Room. Most of the paintings were asleep, though there was a rather wild party going on in the one of the Lowsley witches, on the first floor, just above the staircase. Obviously someone had smuggled alcohol into their picture and they were past tipsy and well on their way into pissed when I walked past.  
  
Snape patrolled down near the kitchen, but his rounds didn't start until four in the morning, and it wasn't even one o' clock yet, so I was safe. Hogwarts was a very odd place in the middle of the night. While the paintings slept, the castle came alive. Stairs moved and the steps jumped over each other and rearranged themselves. Suits of armour took strolls in the corridors. Rooms appeared and disappeared randomly. Lights went on and off, in different colours and different corridors. I was just turning around the corner of the corridor which lead to the Common Room when I heard steps behind me.  
  
I halted abruptly, and listened. There was no accompanying weird mumble, so it couldn't be Filch. It wasn't the long, sweeping steps of Snape, and no other had reason to be down in the dungeons at this time of night. The footfalls were short, quick and determined, the footfalls of a person who knows where they were going. Footfalls I didn't recognise. I froze, paralysed by the thought that it might be one of the Death Eaters entering Hogwarts to snatch away another student. It was a completely unreasonable idea, since the wards on the castle had been strengthened even more after Moon was taken, so that now not even a fly could get in undetected. However unreasonable, I wasn't exactly thinking straight. What if it was a Death Eater, who had gotten in undetected? I might be good at duelling, but Death Eaters had no scruples. They would not wait for me to get my wand out before they knocked me out and killed me or carried me away. Panic started to rise in my chest and I stared at the corner of the corridor in fear.  
  
"Mr Zabini, what are you doing in the corridors at night, and alone?" McGonagalls voice, no matter how berating, had never been more welcome.  
  
"Drinking coffee?" I tried.  
  
"Try again, please, and seriously this time," McGonagall tapped her foot and crossed her arms.  
  
"I was in the kitchen, getting something to eat since I missed dinner doing my homework," I rattled off the details, "And I was just heading back to the Common Room to get some sleep."  
  
"Students are not allowed to go out after dinner, Mr Zabini, and definitely not alone." Her voice was a careful monotone, but I could tell she was angry with me. As she should be, being a teacher, "I am in no position to take points from you outside lessons, as I am not your Head of House. Please follow me."  
  
Trailing after McGonagall, I felt like I'd been caught with my hand in the cookie jar right before dinner. We climbed the stairs, which made me wonder a bit. Snape had his office in the dungeon, so there would be no sense in climbing stairs. But, knowing that each time I opened my mouth I would only get further into trouble, I didn't say anything. McGonagall knew what she was doing. Hopefully. We came up on the second floor before McGonagall turned away from the stairs and headed down one of the corridors. She was walking so fast that if I hadn't been as tall as I was, I would have had to run to keep up with her. She seemed oddly nervous, something that I'd never seen happen with the formidable Head of Gryffindor. Needless to say, it unnerved me somewhat.  
  
We didn't stop walking until we were standing outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. By then, I had gone by puzzled and was a good way into confused. Snape was my Head of House and the logical one to go to when in need of detention and points taken. I was just about to open my mouth and ask about it when McGonagall knocked on the door. Lucas voice said something that might have been ´Come in´ and she opened the door. Lucas was sitting at his desk with a stack of parchment in front of him, still grading at one in the morning. He looked tired, but then again everyone did these days. Rubbing his eyes, he waved us into the room. One eyebrow was raised when I stepped inside and shut the door, but he didn't say anything, waiting for McGonagall to explain.  
  
"Mr Zabini broke rules by wandering around alone in the dungeons after dinner." McGonagall informed him before turning on her heels and headed out the door.  
  
The silence was unbearable, but I wasn't about to break it. Instead, I sat down in a chair in front of Lucas' desk, and puzzled over the mystery of why McGonagall hadn't taken me to Snape. Lucas put down his quill and leaned forward, elbows on the table and rubbed his eyes before looking at me directly. I looked back and waited for him to speak.  
  
"Zabini, I'm sure you understand the severity of what you have done without me explaining it to you. I would like to know why you were out traipsing around the castle at one in the morning." Lucas raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Severe caffeine-to-blood ratio drop." I answered with a perfectly straight face. "Besides, I'd missed dinner and needed to eat."  
  
"You certainly are one of a kind, Zabini." Lucas shook his head sadly, but I could see him flash a fraction of a second smile, "Only you of all students in this creaky old castle would go out for a cup of coffee at one in the morning. You do understand that you've earned yourself detention and ten points will be removed from Slytherin?"  
  
"Yes, what a horrible person I am. I deserve to be hanged upside down from the Great Hall ceiling with a red-and-gold bow on my head, just to make the humiliation complete." Was my flat-voiced reply. "Now, before I get going back to the Common Room and some much needed sleep, can I ask a question?"  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Where's Snape? Why am I here? I should be talking to him right now, not you."  
  
Lucas sighed and shuffled the parchments around on his desk. I waited. I had all night. Assignments written in black ink, slashed over with red ink changed places on the desk-top, and Lucas put his quill in a desk drawer. I waited. I had all night. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Lucas stopped shuffling parchment and looked at me again.  
  
"Professor McGonagall, for all that she is a formidable woman, believes in not telling her students things. I for one do not agree with that method. Maybe too many years in the field has made me paranoid; the more you know the better prepared you are." He looked uneasy even though he stated I needed to know. "Severus Snape isn't here."  
  
"Not here as in not in the room?" I raised an eyebrow. "That's obvious."  
  
"As in presently not in the castle of the immediate vicinity of the castle." Lucas looked troubled. "And he will not be returning in the immediate future. In the meantime, I am temporary Head of Slytherin, as one of the three Slytherins presently on staff. Since Ataria did not feel her day-rhythm was up to par with taking care of a House, and Severus left, I was the only one left capable of dealing with taking care of you. Professor McGonagall does not appreciate it, as I am not her favourite person in the world, but she would never let personal feelings get in the way of running the school. I am going to let you go now, and I want you to go back to the Common Room as fast as possible, and tell everyone still awake about the arrangement. I will be coming by tomorrow morning to see you all, and to tell you the details of your detention."  
  
Information overload had taken hold of my brain, so I could merely nod and follow his instructions. The next few weeks were going to be interesting. Not that I didn't think Lucas was up to it, oh no, but I didn't think all Slytherins were going to accept him as readily as I did. 


	14. White Walls

Snape's disappearance affected everyone, not only the Slytherins, although we were the ones who took it hardest. The Potions students were without a teacher, Slytherin without a Head of House, and the school without a Potions Master. Teaching-wise, it didn't affect me, but my uncle going missing suddenly wasn't exactly comforting. Of course, my mind immediately went to the possibility that he might have been taken, but I dismissed it. Snape was much too difficult to kidnap like that, and Dumbledore didn't seem too worried when he announced the disappearance. Well, he did sound worried, but not "Snape-might-be-dead-and-gone" worried.  
  
Lucas as our temporary Head of House would take some getting used to, but he had an advantage of seeming to have known Snape personally before he came to teach. He'd come and introduced himself to everyone who hadn't met him yet, and after some long-winded explanations, the Slytherins accepted him in lack of a better alternative. Partly it was because Lucas has made clear he would never blatantly favour us, partly because some of them suspected he'd offed Snape to get the Head of House status. Dumb accusations, sure, but Slytherins had always been prone to see plots around every corner and even more so when unbalanced from normal routines.  
  
All students were more careful; two people had gone missing, both Slytherins, so it was obvious anyone could be taken. When even Snape disappeared without a trace, it somehow became more real. Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were jumping at shadows, while most Gryffindors turned their attention towards us Slytherins. Some snatches of conversations between them, overheard by Millicent and Cain and discussed in the Common Room revealed that they thought that somehow Slytherins were behind the takings, and specifically Draco. Silly ideas they had. Draco didn't have the sense of organisation that was needed to get quickly in and out of a place and snatch someone away at the same time without being discovered.  
  
The Unholy Trinity was leading the suspicion against Slytherins, and Weasley was worst. Potter restricted himself to some glaring and muttered accusations, which wasn't exactly unreasonable. He didn't blame Draco directly, but the Death Eaters Malfoy Senior had been one of. How he found that out puzzled me but he knew and made some logical assumptions. Wrong, but still logical. Granger would watch Slytherins, as if trying to work something out, and would often scribble something on a piece of parchment. A list perhaps. Weasley would go a lot farther than scribbling and glaring. He was openly hostile.  
  
He would pick fights with us, and insult us even if we didn't even look his way. He sent Cain running back to the Common Room one day, and I had to spend an hour calming the boy down, stop him crying and try to get him to uncurl from his foetal position in the corner beside the fireplace. When he assaulted Millicent, who was unprepared and couldn't defend herself and only got out of it because Gaspar happened to pass, I lost my temper. Millicent, unbreakable, stable and cynic Millicent had been sobbing when she came back. I lost it, and went hunting.  
  
*****'  
  
"Blaise, this isn't a good idea."  
  
I ignored Draco's attempt at good advice and continued leafing through my Charms book, looking for spells to add to my arsenal. I'd geared up for revenge on Weasley, and was sure I could easily kill him if I wanted. However, I only wanted to maim him badly for what he had done, was still doing, and Draco wasn't likely to stop me. Weasley had made two of my best friends cry, he had dared to touch Slytherin. Anger was far from what I was feeling. Furious would be more like it. Insane would be a fit word for my state of mind as well.  
  
"Weasley is a mean fighter, even if he isn't the best dueller." Draco moved to stand beside me, "And even if you beat him, Potter is going to kill you."  
  
"I beat Potter before," I replied, looking through the index of freezing spells.  
  
"That was in a duel, and he was alone. This time he's likely to have the rest of the House with him, plus Granger, and you know she isn't harmless." He sounded almost desperate. "She may be a Mudblood, but she's capable of hexing you six ways to hell."  
  
"She's frightening when she's mad, I'll give you that." I nodded distractedly.  
  
"Blaise, don't do this." Draco pleaded, "You'll be going to the hospital wing in a matchbox!"  
  
"The only one going anywhere in a matchbox is Weasley," I said, snapping the book shut. "He sent both Cain and Millicent into hysterics, Draco. I'm not going to tolerate that."  
  
"Go to Lucas then!" He snapped.  
  
"I can't. This is something I have to handle personally," I turned and headed towards the door of the dormitory, "Even Lucas understands that."  
  
I shut the door in his face, and descended the stairs. It was around lunch- time, so everyone was either eating, or having the last few minutes of their lessons. The only one present in the Common Room was Agnes Lestrange. She saw me coming down the stairs, and stood up. I halted, wondering what she wanted. She was a very private person, and the only one she really talked to was Theo. What she wanted with me was a mystery.  
  
"You're going after him aren't you?" She asked. It wasn't really a question; she knew the answer already. I nodded. "I'm coming with you."  
  
"Why in the world would you do that?" I was surprised. She never showed interest in helping me before. "Weasley isn't harmless, and even if you're smart you're still only a third year. He's a sixth year and he's faced down Death Eaters."  
  
"You're only a sixth year, and you've never faced Death Eaters." She pointed out logically, "Besides, I'm coming with you since no student is allowed outside the Common Room alone, no matter what the time of day. If you happen upon a teacher alone, you won't be able to find an explanation good enough. If I'm there, we'll only have to say we were going to or from lunch. Simple as that."  
  
"Well." I paused, uncertain how to phrase myself, "Thank you Agnes, I would appreciate that. But once the fight starts, keep out of the way."  
  
"Don't worry, I will." She nodded, and then held out her hand silently. I shook it and we headed out the door, to go Weasley hunting.  
  
******'  
  
We didn't need to excuse ourselves once on our way to find Weasley. Teachers and prefects seemed to assume that if two students went somewhere together, it was all right, even if they were Slytherins. Agnes had learned somewhere how to keep a perfectly straight and innocent face, even though she was helping someone maim a Weasley. I had never had an innocent face, but I could keep a straight one. Apparently, it was enough, and we could go look for our target in peace.  
  
We found him easily. Unfortunately, he was in the middle of a group of Gryffindors, which included Granger, Potter, Thomas and the little Weasley. Quite the formidable group, and quite difficult to get rid of. We had a problem on our hands. Paradoxically, it was Weasley who solved it for us. He looked up and spotted us standing by the doorway, where the Charm- corridor met the one coming from the Divination-classroom. A cold and almost hating look appeared on his face, startling even me. I'd expected anger, and suspicion, but not outright hate.  
  
"Oh look, the Slytherins has decided to come out of their dungeon," He sneered, "I wonder who they'll take away this time."  
  
Everyone hushed, and glared at us, even though compared to Weasley they were half-hearted at best. Granger didn't even glare at us. She just stared thoughtfully, though a bit apprehensive, and kept quiet. Potter seemed torn between saying something to agree with Weasley, or back down. My win over him in the duel appeared to have made him less prone to underestimate me or other Slytherins. Agnes tensed beside me. It was obvious she wanted to retort, but kept true to her word and stayed back from the brewing fight.  
  
"Stupid git," I muttered, just loud enough for him to hear.  
  
"What did you call me?" Weasley demanded, stepping out of his little group of friends, right into the spot where I wanted him to be. I clutched my wand in my pocket.  
  
"He called you a stupid git," Agnes said, stepping in front of me.  
  
Uh-oh. Not rehearsed. What the hell was she doing? She'd said she'd keep out of it. Bloody nosy, self-destructive Agnes Lestrange. If she'd kept out of it, she mightn't gotten the brunt of Weasley's hate, but she just had to go and talk back to him. I ran through some spells in my mind, just in case I had to step in, but for now I would let Agnes handle herself.  
  
"Look, he gets his girlfriend to defend him. How sweet," Weasley sneered, "You Slytherin bitches need to learn how to behave yourselves."  
  
Suddenly, my blood ran cold. How dare he? I saw Agnes's shoulders tense, and her hands twitched. My own hands twitched, and for a split-second I wanted to strangle him. Agnes was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but Weasley was a little more than she could handle. The Gryffindors must have seen the look on my face, because they all stepped back, and suddenly looked uncertain.  
  
"And I suppose you Gryffindors are saints, every last one of you?" Agnes's voice oozed contempt.  
  
"We're better than you Slytherins, that's for sure," Weasley snapped, "I can't believe Dumbledore even lets you go to Hogwarts any more; everyone knows you're the ones who made Snape disappear. You're all going to be bloody Death Eaters when you graduate. Sleeping with the teachers is the only way you lot get good grades."  
  
"Ron!" Granger exclaimed, horrified. "How could you?"  
  
"Agnes, get out of the way," I said quietly. One look at my face had her hurriedly stepping away and standing beside Granger. "Weasley, you have gone too far. You went too far when you assaulted Millie. You went too far when you made Cain have an hysterical breakdown. You went too far with your accusations now. Either you apologise now and never do anything like that again, or I will be forced to hurt you."  
  
I could feel my constant headache building up to almost unbearable levels. Weasley shook his head, and opened his mouth to undoubtedly deliver another insult at me, and I snapped. I'd socked him in the jaw before I even knew what happened. Magic and wands were far from my mind at that moment, and hitting him was so much more satisfying. But he hit me back, and for a moment I saw stars. Just like the Hogwarts Express incident earlier that year, and it made my head hurt even more. He hit me in the ribs, and I heard something snap.  
  
Far off, I could hear both Agnes and Granger shouting at us. I tried to control myself, and pulled back. Unfortunately, this gave Weasley the opportunity he had been waiting for, and he put every ounce of strength he had behind one blow, which made me black out. I was only out for a couple of seconds, but long enough for prefects and teachers to arrive, and long enough to have Agnes trying to take out Weasley by herself. Coming to, I realised I was lying on my side on the floor, arms clutching my ribs and hands twitching. A dry, weak cough was echoing in the chaos around me. My mind wasn't working properly, magnifying some sounds and tuning out others, so it took a while before I realised I was the one coughing.  
  
A cool hand on my forehead, voices above me, someone hauling me upright. The unbearable pain of my ribs. Someone getting me up on my feet, and leading me away. Agnes's voice arguing that Weasley was a complete and utter prat in the background. Weasley sounding as if he was trying to defend himself, and failing utterly. McGonagall's stern voice lecturing everyone. The blinding whiteness of the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey saying something about how horrible it was that I'd end up this way in one of her beds again. McGonagall coming into the infirmary, demanding to know why I'd assaulted one of her precious Gryffindors. And through it all, my unbearable headache.  
  
Suddenly, my mind cleared, although my headache remained. I opened my eyes again, and looked into the worried face of Madame Pomfrey. She smiled when she met my gaze, and put a hand on my forehead, turning my head this way and that, probably inspecting my bruises. I winced when the sunlight streamed into the window, directly into my eyes.  
  
"Where does it hurt?" She asked.  
  
"Would everywhere be specific enough for you?" I asked, my voice rusty. She smiled a bit, but shook her head, "It feels like I've got some old bruises on my ribcage, and a few in my face, but other than that the only thing that's bothering me is my raging headache."  
  
"I'll give you a potion for that, and then you're good to go," She grinned at me, "I don't want you to become a regular here, no matter how much I might like the company."  
  
"Thank you Madame Pomfrey. I appreciate it." I sat up.  
  
One potion later, and I was out of the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey didn't really want me to go, but joked about her getting too attached to someone who would only end up in the infirmary as a bleeding mess again, and let me go. However, I hadn't gotten further than a few steps before a Hufflepuff prefect, I forget his name, came up to me.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Professor Lucas wants to see you in his office." The Hufflepuff said timidly, before hurrying away down the corridor.  
  
Rolling my eyes, I started down the corridor to the left, knowing all too well what Lucas wanted. My last detention had been with Sinistra, who had made me polish telescopes for a full two hours before she let me go, and I wondered what it would be this time. Hopefully not with McGonagall or Flich. Both of them disliked me greatly, especially now after I had fought with Weasley in the corridors. By definition, this was a bad situation, but at the moment, I couldn't care less. I had done what any good Slytherin should have, and if they were going to give me detention for it, then so be it.  
  
******'  
  
"You've earned yourself another detention Zabini." Lucas informed me tiredly.  
  
"I hadn't noticed," I replied dryly. Despite the potion, my headache still raged. It mustn't have kicked in yet.  
  
"You assaulted Mr Weasley in front of a rather large audience, and threw the first blow. Mr Weasley insists that you did so completely unprovoked, and that you threatened to kill him. He goes on to insist that he had turned his back on you when you punched him, and that you attempted to kill him by strangling him:" Lucas read from the parchment in front of him.  
  
During his reciting, I'd grown more and more angry, and by the end of it, I was furious again, just like I'd been a few hours ago. My head started to throb, and as I opened my mouth to tell him the true story, a wave of nausea so strong that I lurched forward hit me. I tried to brace myself, but my fingers grasped only air and then my fingertips were brushing the floor. Lucas called out something, but I could hear him for the pounding of my headache and the rush of blood in my ears.  
  
Then, all hell broke loose.  
  
I could hear wood splinter and glass shatter around me. The assignments stacked on Lucas's desk was violently thrown off the desktop by some unknown force, and his books went the same way. One of them hit me on the shoulder, and it felt like it was dislocated; it sent me to my knees on the floor, and I shut my eyes tight in pain. I heard the echoes of a scream. Detachedly, I realised it was my own voice screaming, but the pain in my head was too great to concentrate on anything else. It felt as if someone had taken my mind and ripped it in shreds, and violently forced it together again. As if someone was taking control over it, and forcibly so.  
  
Someone was shaking my shoulders, and I was too far gone to know who it was. A shouted spell, almost mute in the racket around me. My mind returned suddenly to its normal state, and everything stopped. It just.... stopped. The wood stopped splintering, and the glass shards stopped flying around. Slowly, I opened my eyes again. A cut beneath one of them stung sharply, and my eyes filled with tears at the pain. The nausea faded, but my headache remained strong. Exhausted as I was, worn out both by the fight with Weasley and the sudden and unexplained attack just a few moments, tears began slipping down my face, against my will.  
  
Too tired to stop the tears from falling, too tired to care that I was crying in front of Lucas, I curled up with my back against the wall, my face against my knees and sobbed. My shoulders shook, and the tears stung like hell as they ran over the cut just below my eye, but I didn't even bother to try and choke them back. Too much had happened in too short time, and my pounding headache had crumbled my self-control down to almost nothing. Sobs racked my body, and I was shaking violently, all the while listening to Lucas picking things up from the floor.  
  
A normal teacher would have asked what the hell had happened. A normal teacher would have been shaking me and demanding for me to explain. But Lucas wasn't a normal teacher. He moved around his office silently and cleaned up, before turning to me. He sat down on the floor in front of me, still not speaking. A normal teacher would have tried to speak to me, but Lucas wasn't a normal teacher. He just sat there, a hand on my head and said nothing as I cried. Somehow, it was better that way. If he had talked to me, I would have been forced to be embarrassed over my tears. When he was silent, I could imagine that he didn't really pay attention to what I was doing and didn't know I was crying. It was easier that way. A hand on my head and silence, instead of shoulder-shaking and soothing words.  
  
After what seemed like hours, I was finally able to calm down again, and stop sobbing. But I still kept curled up, arms shielding me from the world, in a strange mirroring of Cain's position on the floor of the Slytherin Common Room a week and a half earlier. Slowly, bit by bit, I could start relaxing, and lifted my head to rest it against the wall. I opened my eyes and stared straight at Lucas, who had lifted his hand away. Red eyes were even more serious than they had been when I had been called into his office. I couldn't find my voice, couldn't ask what happened, and simply waited in silence. Much too tired to stand up, there wasn't much else to do.  
  
"It appears you will be going back to the hospital wing once more, Zabini." Lucas said quietly after a few minutes.  
  
He gave me a hand up, and on shaking legs and trembling knees we made our way back to the hospital wing. My head was buzzing, and my sight blurry, but somehow I managed to put one foot in front of the other, with Lucas' help. Madame Pomfrey's face appeared before my blurry eyes, before everything went black again.  
  
I was vaguely aware of everything, even though I couldn't see anything. Pomfrey ordered Lucas to get me to the closest bed, and he must have picked me up, because my bruised ribs hurt. Someone tucked me into bed, and a potion was forced down my throat. The pain started to fade, and my headache faded into almost nothing. As soon as I woke up properly again I would have to thank Madame Pomfrey sincerely for being such an excellent mediwitch. I drifted off as someone's hands were investigating the cut under my eye, and slept properly for the first time in a long time.  
  
However, I didn't sleep peacefully. I kept waking up during the night, but never fully and had a strange delirious feeling each time. Someone was sitting in a chair next to the bed, and each time I opened my eyes, I was lulled back to sleep by words I didn't recognise. All sounds were muffled, as if I was hearing them through a thick wall, and I gave up trying to make sense and just listened. Each time I fell back to sleep, and would sleep for perhaps another hour before waking up again. It was a restless night, but I didn't mind. I hardly had enough energy to lift a finger, much less wonder why my mind was acting like it was.  
  
And so I slept on.  
  
*******'  
  
Ending Notes; this is turning out completely different from what I imagined, but it's much better this way so I'm not protesting.  
  
I apologise for going so long without updating, but I haven't been able to do anything but come home from school, do my homework and fall asleep. Weekends were spent sleeping or doing homework. March wasn't a nice month. 


	15. Leaving Safety

Sunlight was streaming in through the windows when I finally woke up. Opening my eyes, I wished I hadn't; my head felt as if it was wrapped in cotton-wool, and my eyes hurt when I moved them. Sunlight ought to be outlawed this early in the morning. Pulling up the sheets with stiff fingers, I attempted to bury myself under the covers again, but my attempt was stopped quite abruptly. Hands pulled down the covers again, and I had to bear the brunt of the sunlight in my face.  
  
"Looks like our permanent visitor is awake again," Madame Pomfrey's voice proclaimed cheerfully.  
  
"Bleargh." Was my first statement of the day.  
  
"Breakfast? Alright, let me just get some for you," She flashed a smile before disappearing beyond the white drapes hanging around my bed.  
  
"How are you feeling?" Lucas sounded immensely tired; I could read it even through his short question.  
  
"Out of it. Sketchy. Blurry." I bent my neck and winced. Ten thousand years would give you such a crick in the neck. "Like someone ran over me with spikes in the soles of their shoes."  
  
"As you should be. I'd be worried otherwise," Lucas sat up more in his chair. "Hungry?"  
  
"Like a wolf." I agreed. Wincing as I sat up. I was aching in muscles I'd rather not think about. "My mind feels like it's been replaced with cotton. I couldn't think straight if I tried."  
  
"Fortunately, you won't have to in the next few hours." He replied. "Your friends are obviously worried about you, but I've sent word to them that you will be back in a day or two. Bulstrode threatened to castrate me, but I stood my ground. Quite fearsome that girl is."  
  
I chuckled, my voice sounding rustier than I remembered it ever being. Millicent was just the person who would threaten a teacher like that; I wasn't too surprised. What surprised me was the calm, almost amused way Lucas accepted it and talked about it as if it was normal. Madame Pomfrey entered with a tray laden with every breakfast food imaginable and a steaming cup of black coffee. She put the tray down in front of me, balanced on my knees, and I went for the coffee immediately.  
  
"I love you Madame Pomfrey, will you marry me?" I asked with conviction after I finished the first few sips.  
  
"You're a bit too young dear," Madame Pomfrey laughed good-naturedly, "But I'll keep the offer in mind. What prompted that reaction?"  
  
"Coffee," I growled and downed the rest.  
  
"Ah. Quite like you at that age, isn't he Vincent?" She chuckled, putting a hand on Lucas' shoulder and watched me down my breakfast faster than what was really necessary.  
  
"I remember myself as having a bit more elegance," Lucas liked mildly insulted, though he appeared to be joking. I finished off the last few crumbs of the toast and leaned back on my pillows contentedly.  
  
"Not after the O.W.L-week you hadn't," Pomfrey grinned, before heading off towards her office with the empty tray. Lucas watched her go with an odd half-smile on his face. He didn't smile very often, so it puzzled me for a bit, but it didn't matter very much at the moment.  
  
"So." I piped up after several minutes of silence, "What exactly happened to me?"  
  
"You have no clue whatsoever?" Lucas looked at me with an unreadable expression on his face. I shook my head mutely. "Has there been anything out of the ordinary these past few weeks? Anything that has seemed strange?"  
  
"Nothing these past few weeks, no." I shook my head. "I can't think of anything. Wait. There is one thing, but that I'd had for a few months now. Ever since I duelled Potter, I've had a headache. Nothing major, but enough to be annoying. It got worse after I fought Weasley, and last night when you were telling me what he'd said, it got even worse. It's almost gone now."  
  
"As I feared." Lucas mumbled, almost too low for me to hear. "You will be getting your detention on Friday, after lunch. I have cancelled the class to give you more time with your assignments, so there will be no lesson, and no one will ask where you have been when you disappear."  
  
"Disappear?"  
  
"We will be visiting friends of mine." Lucas informed me. That was all the information I could get out of him, no matter how much I prodded.  
  
******'  
  
Lucas left some hour later, and I was left lying there in my bed and stared at the ceiling. A Hufflepuff I didn't recognise came in later with a bleeding finger. He gave me a startled and slightly frightened look before being treated quickly by Pomfrey and sent on his way. Soon enough, I realised with a crooked smile, the whole school would know I was back in the hospital wing looking worse than ever. True to my assumptions, when Millicent, Cain, Gaspar and the others came to visit me, the word was all over Hogwarts.  
  
"Hannah Abbott swears that you were here because you'd been fighting with Edward Stone. That you'd sent him back to the Common Room crying and bleeding and that he was too scared to go to Madame Pomfrey with his injuries." Millicent told me, occupying the chair Lucas had vacated some hours earlier.  
  
"Millie, I don't even know who Edward Stone is," I said, raising my eyebrow and eating another of the chocolate pieces she'd brought me from the secret stash behind the bookcase in the Common Room. "Hufflepuffs are neurotic. Too much time holed up in the greenhouses."  
  
"Probably. Why are you here though?" Gaspar asked me, obviously curious.  
  
"Ah," I made a split-second decision to tell a white lie, "Weasley beat the living snot out of me, I am ashamed to admit, and after I got out of the infirmary, I had to go and meet Lucas. He told me what Weasley pretended had happened, and I blew a fuse. But in my justified rage I forgot that I'd just gotten healed, and some of my old injuries decided to come knocking again. Bit of a bitch really."  
  
"Now now, Mr Zabini, no need to go insulting me like that," Pomfrey warned as she came by, "You really do change your mind quickly. Only a few hours ago you wanted to marry me. Ah, well, the youth of today."  
  
Silence descended on the group when she left, and all of them stared at me with utter confusion and in Pansy's case acute terror on their faces, demanding explanation. Grinning, I held my hands out and tried to look innocent, but it was obvious I wasn't fooling anyone.  
  
"Coffee." I said, as if that explained anything, "And it was a joke. I wouldn't marry Madame Pomfrey, however adorable she is for bringing me coffee. I thought I'd set my sights on someone more my age to begin with."  
  
"Sounds like a good plan," Pansy nodded, relieved, "Who did you have in mind?"  
  
"All the good ones are taken," I rolled my eyes, "and you're related to me, Pansy, so that's out of the question."  
  
"Millie doesn't have a boyfriend, does she?" Gaspar said, clueless as always.  
  
"Gaspar, you utter prat, if you speak another word, I swear I'll skin you alive and make paper out of your skin." I threatened, seeing the sad look on Millicent's face.  
  
"What did I do?"  
  
I would have replied but Lucas interrupted it all by appearing beside the bed silently. He had the same peculiar half-smile on his face as he'd worn some hours ago, watching Pomfrey walk away. I waved at him half-heartedly, not knowing why he was there.  
  
"'Lo there, Professor. No papers to grade?" I asked.  
  
"Not right now, Zabini." He shook his head, "Now what was this argument I heard?"  
  
"Gaspar being an arse," I gestured to to the still puzzled Gaspar. "As usual. Nothing too serious though. Was there anything special?"  
  
"Your detention for the Weasley-incident will begin right after lunch on Friday." Lucas shrugged, "And Poppy insisted you'd stay all of tomorrow, so no sneaking out."  
  
"I promise I won't go anywhere. May I go to my Charms lesson on Friday?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
********'  
  
I was finally allowed to leave the infirmary on Friday morning. I wandered out of there, my head still feeling wrapped up in cotton-wool, but no longer feeling my scratches and bruises. The one under my eye had left a small scar though, as it had been a glass-shard from a potions bottle doused with a certain potion, of which I'd forgotten the name. It wasn't important. Millicent had brought be my Charms books yesterday, and Pomfrey had given me breakfast, so I went directly to my lesson.  
  
As I took my seat next to Millicent, I noticed everyone looking at me. Turning my head to ask Millicent why, I hadn't even opened my mouth before Flitwick came in and started the lesson. The tiny professor climbed the stack of books always present on his chair, and looked out over us with the same wide smile he always wore. And so the lesson began.  
  
"Hello everyone!" Flitwich greeted us, "Today we will be studying flame- freezing charms!"  
  
I stopped listening around that point, since I'd learned those over summer. Instead, I turned my attention to the window, and what was happening outside. Some poor class was down at Hagrid's hut having a Care of Magical Creatures lesson, in the pouring rain. Being November, the rain wasn't too unusual, but I pitied the poor sods who had to be out in it. Hopefully, my detention wouldn't mean going out in the rain. Pomfrey had warned me that if I ended up in her infirmary again due to being out in the rain, I'd leave through the window.  
  
We practised the flame-freezing charm on a candle, and that took up most of the lesson. Millicent got it pretty quickly as well, and we spent the rest of the lesson talking quietly, as not to disturb the others and earn more points taken off. Not that Flitwick was probable to take off points for a bit of talking, but being careful never hurt anyone.  
  
"So, what happened when I was gone?" I asked, toying with my quill.  
  
"Agnes had a long and complicated rant about how horrible Weasley was, and Cain promised that when he got old enough he'd send Weasley running with a few well-aimed curses. Gaspar has been walking around look confused ever since you told him off, Theo is trying to get Agnes to calm down, Draco and Pansy are finally getting along again, and I'm sitting there in the middle with nothing to do." Millicent shrugged.  
  
"Sounds like fun," I grinned, "But what I meant was how are all non- Slytherins reacting?"  
  
"The Ravenclaws might be taking our side, since they were the ones Weasley turned his petty anger towards after you wound up in the infirmary. The Hufflepuffs are definitely with the Gryffindors, since the pretend that you beat up one of them. The Gryffindors are all against you, except, strangely enough, Granger. Mind explaining that?" She raised her eyebrow.  
  
"No can do." I shook my head, "All I know is that she was shocked at Weasley's accusation that Slytherins slept with the professors."  
  
"Odd that one." Millicent shook her head. "How are you feeling? No headaches? No ribs broken?"  
  
"Not any more; Pomfrey knows what she's doing."  
  
Conversation slowed after that, and I spent some time looking at the others. Granger, like us, had already mastered the charm, and was trying to instruct Longbottom on how to do it. Potter had finished as well, though he was having another go, probably just to see if he still got it. Or just to make sure he didn't forget how to do it. Most of the class was managing without trouble, except Weasley. He was sitting there with his wand, trying to pronounce the words correctly, but failing miserably, and Granger seemed unwilling to help him. Potter was too caught up in his won work, Longbottom was listening to Granger, and everyone else was busy, so Weasley was left to fend for himself. What made me wonder was how he spoke; it was as if he couldn't open his mouth properly, and he was lisping. Rather laughable really.  
  
"What's with Weasley? He can't talk properly." I gestured towards the redhead.  
  
"You socked him a good one; broke his jaw you did, and even though it's healed, it hurts when he talks and that's why he can't speak like a normal human being." Millicent fiddled with the candle.  
  
"You mean he was able to before?" I snorted.  
  
"Blaise, be nice. We don't want another fight, do we?"  
  
"Why not? I'd win it."  
  
That earned me a quill in the face, just as the lesson ended. We filed out of the classroom, and headed towards the Great Hall. Weasley was glaring at me; I could feel it, but I decided to ignore him. It was too early for fighting anyway. No other Gryffindors even spared me a glance, except Granger, who wore the same thoughtful expression as she had since Moon disappeared. Millicent dragged me away from the Charms corridor, claiming to be hungry, but I knew just as well as she did that she did so because she didn't want any fights.  
  
*******'  
  
The Slytherin table was quiet, but not empty. We'd been a lot more subdued after Snape disappeared. Even the die-hard Voldemort supporters were beginning to doubt they were safe, since they'd heard from their parents that Snape was loyal to their cause. I settled down next to Agnes, and opposite to Gaspar. Agnes still looked angry, and was glaring daggers at Weasley. If looks could kill, they would be hammering the last nails in his coffin. Waving a hand before her eyes, I watched as she started and looked up at me. I raised my eyebrow.  
  
"Still mad, are you Agnes?" I asked.  
  
"He ought to be hanged, that's what," Agnes muttered angrily, "He just about called me a slut! He dared to insinuate that I'd sleep with my teachers to get higher grades. The utter bastard! If it wasn't for the fact that he's two heads taller than me, I'd beat the living hell out of him! And then he dared to try and lie his way out of a detention! And succeeded. I hate Gryffindors. "  
  
Chuckling at her fiery rant, I reached over and gave her a hug. It was amazing what a fist-fight could do for the loyalty in a House. Three days ago, I would never have imagined that Agnes Lestrange would stand up for me against Weasley, and still be angry two days later, but she was. Agnes looked a little shocked at the hug, but as soon as I let go, she smiled hesitantly. Patting her on the head, I went back to eating. I'd need all the energy I could get before my detention. As I ate, I watched the Head Table. Dumbledore was there, as usual, smiling at everyone and apparently telling Sprout a joke. Ataria Sinistra and Lucas were talking quietly to each other. It surprised me to see Lucas at the table; he was almost never there. In fact, it was the second time all term he'd been there. The first time had been early in the morning, as he was leaving the Great Hall just as I entered.  
  
We'd been eating for about half an hour, when Lucas left the Head Table and headed for us. Not a rare occurrence for the head of House to walk by their own table, but everyone watched Lucas, since he was so rarely there, and not many knew he was the Head of Slytherin. He stopped just behind me, and knowing fully well why he was there, I stood up and followed him out of the Hall silently. Everyone watched, and just as we reached the door, I turned my head, and glared at Weasley. How he'd gotten out of detention was beyond me. No one was the stupid, but neither Dumbledore nor McGonagall wanted to see their little Gryffindors tarnished.  
  
Lucas led me out through the Entrance Hall and out the door, down the stairs and across the grounds. It seemed we were heading towards the train, which puzzled me no end. Certain that I'd have to scrub trophies till kingdom come, I hadn't expected this. I had to almost run to keep up with Lucas, even though our legs were about the same length. He was in a hurry, that much was obvious. The only question remaining now was why he was in a hurry, and why we were heading for the train station.  
  
"Where are we going?" I asked, still half-running.  
  
"To see some friends of mine, as I told you," Lucas replied. "I've arranged with the Headmaster for you to leave the grounds. As you are in my company, he thought it all right. We have to hurry; we don't want to miss the train."  
  
"The train?" I parroted. I couldn't help it; I was incredibly confused. Leaving the grounds, meeting friends of Lucas', getting permission from the Headmaster, none of it made sense.  
  
"Yes, the train, and since Poppy would behead me if I made you run, We have to walk rather quickly to make it in time." Lucas flashed that lighting fast smile, "Now move."  
  
We made it to the station just as the train from Hogsmeade ground to a halt in front of us. Lucas dragged me on it and found a compartment quickly. Unfortunately, since it wasn't the Hogwarts Express, it wasn't very large, so we had company. A tiny wizard and his equally tiny wife sat across from us, and a young woman and her boyfriend, who were arguing quite heatedly, sat beside us. I wrinkled my nose, and sank deeper in my seat. Fortunately I'd brought my book bag with me, and pulled out a book. It happened to be Hogwarts; A History. I'd been carrying it around for a week or so, intending to read it, but never getting the chance.  
  
I flipped a few pages in, past the introduction, and began reading an account on how Hogwarts was built. Quite interesting reading, but not something that had me turning the pages faster and faster. After a while, I noticed Lucas reading over my shoulder silently. He hadn't brought a book then, for himself. In the background, I could hear the witch and her boyfriend arguing still, and the mumbling conversation of the old couple in front of us. After about a chapter of the book, I handed it over to Lucas silently, and settled in to sleep the rest of the way. Since he wasn't telling me anything anyway, I might as well sleep. But, I realised just before I fell asleep, there might be one question he could answer.  
  
"Why didn't Weasley get detention?"  
  
"Because McGonagall, even though she blames others for favouritism, has a lot of it herself." Lucas replied, not lifting his eyes from the book.  
  
"No one could have mistaken that for me attacking him. I was the one who ended up in the infirmary with broken ribs, a broken nose and a black eye, remember?" I pointed out. "All he got was a broken jaw and some bruises courtesy of Agnes."  
  
"I wondered why Weasley's story didn't sit well with your injuries," Lucas nodded, "Curiously enough only Potter said that story was true, and he didn't seem convinced even though he was there when it happened."  
  
"Whatever. Everyone loves the perfect saints of Gryffindor, so obviously it was my fault. And Agnes's." I added as an afterthought. "Since a third year is so capable of assaulting Weasley."  
  
"Miss Lestrange has been dealt with, and as soon as we get back to school I will tell McGonagall and the Headmaster what really happened, but at the moment I thought I'd read a bit. Would you mind keeping quiet?"  
  
Scowling at him, I went back to staring at the window and trying to get some sleep. Even though I'd been sleeping for almost two days straight, I was tired. Slowly, lulled by the mumbled conversation of the old couple and the whisper-scream of the argument next to us, I drifted off to sleep, not caring that I could have the mother of all cricks in my neck when I woke up.  
  
******'  
  
As the train rolled into King's Cross, Lucas shook my shoulder to wake me up. I uncurled myself from the ridiculous position I'd ended up in, and stretched as I stood up. My neck popped audibly, and I winced before following Lucas out of the compartment. It felt strange to be back at King's Cross before the term was over. No little first years running around, no third years bragging about their Hogsmeade visits, no seventh years celebrating their graduation. Only a lot of awkward wizards and witches, on errands to London. Speaking of which, we were going to London as well, but I couldn't very well go there in my school uniform, with robes and all. A severe breach of Wizard Law, that would be.  
  
"Sir, how are we supposed to get anywhere looking like this?" I gestured to my clothing.  
  
"Ah. Disillusionment Charm for you, obviously." Lucas took out his wand, and knocked me over the head with it. I winced and whacked his hand away, and felt the cold trickle of the spell down my neck. Soon, I blended in with the background perfectly.  
  
"Right. You then? You're hardly unnoticeable in those clothes." I pointed out. "There's no way the Muggles aren't going to notice you in that getup. You knew we were coming here, so what's the secret?"  
  
"The best one there is," Lucas smiled distantly. "The Muggles are going to believe I'm just a regular freak who decided to dress up. My eyes they will pass off as coloured contact lenses, and my clothing is just going to be awfully strange and freakish. I've planned this, Zabini. I know what I'm doing."  
  
"Muggles are odd," I complained as we walked through the barrier.  
  
We walked straight past a security guard standing with his back against the wall, watching everyone walking to and from their trains. He gave Lucas a glance and looked away with a look of distaste, muttering something which sounded like ´Freak´. Grinning as I passed, I waved at him, testing my charm. He didn't give me a glance. Both of our disguises worked perfectly. All I had to do was follow closely behind Lucas and keep out of the way of Muggles. Quite easy since the Muggles kept away from Lucas. By the time we'd gotten a few blocks away from King's Cross, I was more or less certain of where we were going.  
  
The Ministry of Magic.  
  
*******'  
  
Ending; the plot has long since been ripped to shreds, and I am currently trying to get it pieced together and back on track again. I think I'm at least halfway succeeding. 


	16. Black Ice

The Ministry of Magic.  
  
I'd been there before, but only once, with my father when i was five years old, so I couldn't remember very much. Riding down through the elevator was something I did remember though; I'd been clinging to my father's leg, frightened of the darkness. Lucas stated our business, but I was too busy reliving my memories to notice what he said. The phone booth started sinking, and I leaned against one of the sides, crossing my arms over my chest.  
  
Lucas hadn't said a word since we got off the train, giving me ample time to be driven crazy over why we were in London and the Ministry of Magic on my supposed detention. Millicent and the others would hang Lucas when we came back to Hogwarts; snatching me away to London for no apparent reason, and not telling anyone just after Snape's seemingly disappeared was not a good idea, when dealing with Millicent. I was also able to puzzle over the explosion in Lucas's classroom two days earlier. All of a sudden, things just started flying and breaking. Odd that.  
  
We stepped out of the phone booth, and Lucas whacked me over the head again with his wand. Apparently, I reappeared again, because people looked at me, not through me. Someone running through from the Floo to the elevator nearly knocked me over, but stumbled a bit and apologized severely before rushing off again. I ignored him. The ceiling had me distracted and I barely even noticed Lucas talking to me until he snapped his fingers in front of my nose to get my attention. Refocusing on eye-level, I raised an eyebrow at him.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"We do have all day, but if you keep looking at the ceiling like that, you'll break your neck," He said, "And we have business to attend to."  
  
"You never told me why we're here." I pointed out as we wandered off towards the elevator.  
  
"I didn't? Must've slipped my mind," He replied absently as we stepped into the elevator and he pressed a button. "How thoughtless of me."  
  
I waited, and waited, but he didn't say anything more. Since the elevator was full of people going up and down as well, I didn't get the chance to ask again. Several people left on Level Four, as well as a few of the paper- plane like memos. One of them was carrying a cage with what looked to be a cross-breed between a bird and a lizard. A group of ragged looking wizards, one of them still smoking, got off on Level Two, while someone I vaguely recognised as the Weasley who had been a prefect in our second year was with us all the way up to Level Five. Lucas made no move to get off, and soon we were two of the very few left in the elevator. Some severe looking Ministry officials, who, would they stand any straighter, could have been used as rulers. A foreign looking wizard, impossible to determine where he came from, though he looked Slavic, a witch in dark blue robes and glasses, an old wizard bent with age, and us. The elevator kept rising, past Level Seven and Eight, before grinding to a halt on Level Nine.  
  
"Level Nine, Department of Mysteries." A cool female voice announced as the doors slid open.  
  
Lucas stepped out, and I hurried to follow him before the doors closed. Still without explanation to why we were hanging about the creepiest place in the Ministry of Magic, I followed close behind Lucas, worried that I'd get lost if I didn't. The Department of Mysteries was creepy to begin with, and the knowledge that Potter had fought Voldemort in here only made it creepier. It seemed deserted though. No one was walking in the corridor, but then again there was only one door at the end of it and they might well be there.  
  
"This is getting rather annoying; why are we in the Department of Mysteries?" I sighed, annoyed by now. "Are we looking for something Potter dropped when he was here last?"  
  
"We are meeting some friends of mine, as I have told you time and time again, Zabini," Lucas opened the door, "Now shut up."  
  
Grumbling, I did so. I couldn't have spoken if I wanted to when we stepped beyond the door. Everything inside was black. The walls were black, the doors were black, the ceiling was black, the cold floor was black, and polished so that it looked as if we were walking on black ice. The only thing in the room that wasn't black was the fire set on pedestal in the middle of the floor. Lucas stopped in front of it, and looked around. I stared around the room in amazement, trying not to gape too much, and almost stumbled over Lucas's robes before he caught my shoulder.  
  
"Steady now, Zabini. Wouldn't want you catching yourself on fire." He said. "Linden does hate when people catch fire anywhere close to his books."  
  
Suddenly, one of the doors flew open, and a man who looked ridiculously like an old Muggle Professor, though no older than forty came running into the black room. He was chasing something small with many legs, which disappeared through another door as he slowed to a halt just before he hit Lucas. He straightened his glasses, peered through them at me and Lucas, though he barely seemed to notice me, and blinked.  
  
"Oh dear." He said. "I should remember your name, shouldn't I? I'm sure I should. William, perhaps? Or Cassius? No, that's the caretaker. I'm afraid I don't remember you. Dreadfully sorry, I really am."  
  
"No need to be sorry, Linden." Lucas shook his head, "I'm neither Cassius nor William. My name is Vincent Lucas, and I'm a good friend of yours. If you took a moment and collected your hopelessly absent memories you'd remember the time when I saved you from some rather enraged goblins. Among other things. But no matter; I'm here for another reason than to discuss memories with you. I wrote you a letter yesterday."  
  
"I did get a letter from a Vincent yesterday, yes," Linden nodded. I was still rather surprised at his absent-mindedness, and didn't really notice what they said after that. Coming back to my senses some moments later, I refocused on the conversation.  
  
"Is this the lad?" Linden pointed at me. "Looks rather thin, doesn't he? Doesn't your parents feed you, boy?"  
  
"I'm perfectly - "I started, but Lucas broke in.  
  
"- Incapable of feeding yourself. You drink a lot of coffee, and eat a lot of measly sandwiches. No wonder you black out all the time." Lucas raised an eyebrow, "Though there's another reason for that. This is Linden Helling, a good friend of mine when he happens to remember it. He's a bit absent-minded, but I should thing you're able to handle it. He is going to explain some things to you, while I go and arrange some personal business of mine."  
  
And so I was left alone in a completely black room, with someone who barely remembered his own name, who was supposed to explain things to me. Great. Just fabulous. Lucas really needed to be beheaded, at soonest possible convenience. And preferably buried with a stake through his heart. Resembling a vampire that much wasn't healthy. One might wake up one morning to discover that the neighbours has buried one in one's own backyard with the help of a stake and some garlic. Not a nice experience, as my Great Uncle Drathil told me, even though neither of those things work on real vampires. He claimed he still had a scar. They hurt, but don't kill. Linden shook my shoulder and brought me back to the here-and-now part of procedures.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"How about some tea?" The question came out of the blue, as did my answer.  
  
"Have you got coffee?"  
  
"If we can chase down the coffee-machine, yes, otherwise, no." Was Linden's rather cryptic answer. "Come along, we do need to sit down. There are a few things I might be obligated to explain to you, if Vincent's suspicions are right. They usually are. I'm sure of that, though I can't really remember an example right now."  
  
"Ah." Was all I could think of to say.  
  
The next room proved to be a library, even larger than the one at school. Linden had just chosen a door, seemingly at random, and opened it, and inside was the library. And I was pretty sure it was the same door we came in through. At the very end of the bookshelves, a lone candle fluttered, and it seemed impossibly far away. Linden whistled as he went, and I followed more cautiously. The Department of Mysteries was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the strangest place I had ever visited, and that's saying something, since I had spent nearly six years at Hogwarts.  
  
Linden gestured vaguely at a chair in front of what I assumed was his desk, and I sat down. He sat down behind the desk and began moving some parchment and books around, so that he could see his desktop. It was without a doubt the most disorganised desktop I had ever seen, up to and including Lucas's own after the glass-shards started flying. I turned my attention elsewhere as he let books fly. The whole Department seemed empty, which surprised me. The Department of Mysteries, who was guarding some of the more dangerous items in the wizarding world, ought to have a better security system, or at least more employees. An empty Department just didn't make any sense.  
  
"So, Vincent tells me you've been in the hospital wing quite often this week," Linden said, giving up on organising his desk. "Mind explaining why?"  
  
"I really don't see a reason for that, but since Lucas dumped me here and disappeared, I guess I don't have a reason not to." I shrugged, "First time was because of a fist-fight with Weasley, which was fully justified. I broke his jaw, he broke my nose, gave me two black eyes and broke a couple of my ribs. Pomfrey healed them, and I was sent to Lucas for my detention. He told me what Weasley had said to worm his way out of detention, and I got angry. Then, all of a sudden, things started flying around. I blacked out, and ended up in the infirmary again."  
  
"Blacked out you say?" Linden straightened his glasses, which had an unfortunate tendency to slip down the right side of his nose, "How interesting. Basil!"  
  
The last shouted statement had no connection whatsoever to what we'd talked about, and I jumped. Linden had the same tendency as my sister, it seemed, to talk about many things at once, and never once touching the ground called sanity. Hearing hurried footfalls from the bookshelves behind me, I spun around in my seat and looked into the shadows. A man, about a head shorter than I was, came running out of the library, carrying a stack of books. He stumbled over some books on the floor, and the books he was carrying flew all over Linden and me. He straightened up immediately, and looked apologetic.  
  
"S-sorry, d-didn't mean t-to t-t-trip!" He stammered nervously. "What did you want? The coffee-machine'th gone mithing again, by the way."  
  
"Stop lisping Basil." Linden said tiredly, "And the stammering is rather annoying too. What is it with you and speech impediments anyway? No, never mind, we have more important things to attend to. This here is Blaise Zabini. He blacked out two days ago, for no apparent reason. Have you seen my Algernon Bagshot book around here lately?"  
  
"Anja was reading it earlier," Basil shrugged, "She's on her cigarette break right now. Do you want me to get her?"  
  
When not stammering or lisping, Basil spoke with a Scottish accent. Apparently, his speech impediments were imagined, because he spoke without the slightest hitch in his voice. Racing off again through the bookshelves, shouting for this mysterious Anja, he stumbled again, but didn't fall luckily. Once again, I cursed Lucas's existence and his decision to leave me with these nutcases. Basil especially; Linden was just absent-minded and not prone to explain things properly. Basil had made up speech impediments, or so it appeared, and a trouble with keeping his balance. One could only imagine that Anja was just as bad.  
  
"Now, as soon as Anja hands me my book, I'm sure we can solve this," Linden tried to be comforting, but stopped smiling as he caught the look on my face. "Oh dear, we haven't gotten off to a very good start, have we? You will have to excuse our disorganisation; the lack of hands to organise us and the severe cut in budget the Minister has forced upon us has started to show. We're short-handed as it is, and it's not getting any better. Hopefully, we will be able to help you anyway."  
  
"Thanks," I mumbled, "So that's why the place is so empty."  
  
"Yes. Unfortunately, we have been forced to let many people go. Too many people. We can hardly manage as it is; horrible that we would have to Obliviate so many people just because the Ministry doesn't see fit to give us a large enough budget to pay the wages." Linden didn't look happy.  
  
"Obliviate?" That was news to me.  
  
"Of course; this is the most secret place in the known world; anyone who works here has to be Obliviated when they retire or are forced to leave their position," Linden blinked, surprised I didn't know, "It's only common sense."  
  
It was, really. Having several people running around with knowledge of what was going on inside the Department of Mysteries was just crazy. Not to mention dangerous. Obliviating people made sense, but Obliviating people couldn't be a nice thing to do every other day. Obliviation was a sort of mind-rape, forcibly removing and replacing memories, and even though I'd never attempted the spell myself, I could imagine that it wasn't very comfortable to do it. What really got me though, was the budget cutbacks that Fudge had forced on the Department. Those didn't make any sense at all. I opened my mouth to ask further, but was interrupted by Basil returning with a blonde woman in a tow.  
  
"What did you want, Linden?" She asked. "I don't like cutting my cigarette break short. You know that."  
  
"I merely wanted to know if you'd seen my book, the one by Bagshot, on mental diseases and memory loss." Linden said mildly, smiling a bit.  
  
"It's right in front of you," Anja rolled her eyes, "You daft old bat. Who's this thin streak of misery?"  
  
"Ah. This is Blaise Zabini, he's here because of something which happened two days ago. Thank you." Linden said, picking up a heavy book in front of him and leafing through it.  
  
"Zabini? The fire-accident?" Anja asked, "What's he doing here? He'd want to go to the Department of Magical Law, to settle all legal issues."  
  
"He blacked out for no reason, and Vincent took him here," Linden replied, nose-deep in the book.  
  
"Oh, Vincent brought him here. That makes it alright, doesn't it?" Anja wondered, sounding incredibly sarcastic. "As if we don't have a lot on our hands already!"  
  
"Well, I'm sorry, I just blacked out and things started flying around and I wound up in the hospital wing for the second time in twenty-four hours, don't let me bother you." I snapped, annoyed with her attitude. It wasn't as it was my fault that I was there. "And for your information, I'm not too fond of Lucas either; he deserves to be beheaded for dragging me off to London and dumping me with you for no reason at all, you know."  
  
Silence descended for a few moments after my outburst. Linden peered over the edge of his book, Basil, who had been dusting off the bookshelves, halted in his movements and stared at me. Anja herself, still with a cigarette in her hand, smoking, looked at me in surprise. I probably shouldn't have snapped at her like that, but it was too late to take it back. I was tired of being kept in the dark, angry at both her and Lucas, and my head was still feeling fussy after I'd passed out. And no one would explain anything to me. It drove me mad. Suddenly, Anja started grinning.  
  
"Well, well, well; the serpent has teeth." She chuckled, "I didn't mean no harm, Zabini. It's the stress of just us three managing the Department getting to me."  
  
"Just the three of you? That's monstrous! No one can work like that!" I exclaimed, surprised. I would have talked further, but Linden slammed the book down on the desk again, grinning widely and frightening the life out of me.  
  
"There it is! Now, Mr Zabini if you would just sit quietly, we'll have this solved in no time. Do you have any objections to me poking around in your memories? I will have to know exactly what happened to ascertain how to deal with it." He smiled.  
  
"Go right ahead. The most exciting thing you'll find in there is cobwebs anyway." I shrugged and leaned back in my chair.  
  
After a chuckle, Linden closed his eyes and concentrated. I closed my eyes as well, and stopped thinking as much as I could. Images of memories swirled past in my mind. My first time on a broom, only a feet off the ground at the age of four. Marise flinging snowballs at me, laughing. The Triwizard Tournament maze, and the red sparks. Potter bent over Diggory's body. Granger helping me downstairs. Millicent laughing. Draco and Pansy screaming at each other. "I'm frightfully sorry, it's rather hard to move around in here." Linden said suddenly. Potter and Granger laughing at something, Weasley lying on the floor, laughing as well. Snape, in one of the rare genuine smiles he wore. Lucas red eyes. Glass breaking. Wood cracking. My knees hitting the floor. "Finally. This is the right one. Let's replay it."  
  
The memory swirled by, though slower than the actual event. Distantly, I could hear, or rather feel Linden speaking to himself or the others. After I'd run through the memory once, I was moved further back, to the Defence lessons. Images of Lucas flashed by, of me sitting in the library arguing with Granger. The duel with Potter. Memories of pain and exhaustion. Suddenly, it stopped. I opened my eyes again and stared at Linden.  
  
By all rights, my head should be hurting. Somewhere, far off, it was hurting. But I didn't feel it as I should have. Something served like a damper between the ache and my concept of pain. Blinking a few times, I wondered why I wasn't lying on the floor, throwing up because of my headache. I should have been, but I wasn't.  
  
"How interesting," Linden mumbled, "How very fascinating. I know what's wrong now."  
  
"Well, what is it?" I snapped, without meaning to.  
  
"It appears that during this duel you had, you exhausted yourself." Linden squinted at me, "Not just physically, but you drained your magical reserves. It was very, very fortunate that you did rest up after that, and not attempt to do any spells."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"It would have killed you." Linden sounded very serious all of a sudden. "Draining your reserves and then doing magic would have resulted in severe physical and mental shock, and ultimately your death. You, however, had sense enough to rest. But you didn't rest nearly enough. You went on to attend lessons and do spells and other magic too soon. You lived on scraping the bottom of your reserves the whole time, and it wore away on your mind and your powers. Finally, after both physical and magical wear on you, you snapped. That's why you blacked out."  
  
"Why did I snap, as you call it? Why did the glass start flying? Why did the wood break?" I pressed, not satisfied with his explanation, though it did make many things clearer.  
  
"How will I explain this?" Linden sighed, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. "All but the most unusual of individuals have a catch, a stopper in their head, that prevents them from doing magic any other way than with a wand. Without their wands, they're crippled, almost Muggles, but not quite. There is always the ability to do tiny things, almost unnoticeable, without a wand. Before you ever have a wand, you perform magic. That's what makes Hogwarts send letters for you. But as soon as you get a wand, it bonds with you. It becomes your wand, exclusively. No one else can use it, and you can't use any other wand. Because of the catch in your head. You with me so far?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Good. Now comes the difficult part. Excessive use of magic, on your part the exhausting duel and living on your reserves for months, scraping the bottom of the barrel so to speak, does things to you. It erodes that catch in your head, crumbles it. Makes your magic run wild. You lose your mental grip on magic." He smiled as if to reassure me of something, "In your case, even though long habit kept you going for those months, the force of the magical powers let loose when you lost that grip was enough to shatter glass and break wood. Never in my experience at least, have there been quite such violent reaction to losing control over one's mind."  
  
"So you're basically telling me I've gone mad?" I asked.  
  
"A bit more controlled than that, but yes, that is the gist of it." He nodded.  
  
Silence. Anja had taken a vacant chair and was puffing away on her cigarette, despite Linden's obvious disapproval. Basil had, in lack of a chair, taken place on the floor, and was flipping through a book. Apparently, they had heard Linden speak of these things before and wasn't very impressed. Which was a bit odd, really. Hopefully, people didn't go insane on regular basis around here. I really hoped they didn't.  
  
"I will speak to Vincent about your lessons, and possible visitation hours here." Linden continued. "And I will write a notification to Headmaster Dumbledore of course, to make it official. Ah, welcome back, Vincent."  
  
"Got over your memory loss, did you?" Lucas said as he appeared like a ghost behind my chair.  
  
"Yes. You were right about this one as well, Vincent." Linden nodded towards me, "He'll need training of course, but we can take care of that."  
  
"Training?" I interrupted, "Can you just make it go away?"  
  
"No. We can't. Once you lose the control, you can't get it back. You can establish a new one, but never get back the one you had before." Linden said. "I'm afraid you'll have to relearn everything you know. The only other way out if is to block your magic completely, and that would eventually drive you insane."  
  
"As if I'm not mad enough already," I groaned, and buried my head in my hands.  
  
It was now official; this day was rotten. I had taken a one-way trip to hell.  
  
*****'  
  
Ending Notes; poor little Blaise. Ah well, the end of the chapter might have been a little sudden, but I assure you, the next one will be up soon as possible. 


	17. The Resident Madman

The trip back to Hogwarts stood out as hazy in my mind. I couldn't remember how we got back to King's Cross, and even if my life depended on it, I couldn't have reminded myself of how I got back into the Common Room or my dormitory. My head was aching again, for some unknown reason. On the way to the Slytherin Common Room, I was sure I'd heard Lucas say something about a spell, but I wasn't completely sure. Completely out of it and bone tired, I collapsed on my bed and fell asleep, not even bothering to undress first.  
  
Waking up several hours later, well into the night, I sat up. Bewildered and confused, not really knowing where I was before I had time to orientate myself, I looked around tiredly. Green drapes, four-poster bed, stone walls, had to be Hogwarts. Relaxing and stretching my back till it popped audibly, I crawled out of bed. It had been altogether too long since my last cup of coffee. Maybe everything would start to make sense after that. Maybe I'd wake up and realise I wasn't crazy, and that I hadn't broken down and everything hadn't exploded. Would be a nice thing, really, but I knew it wouldn't happen.  
  
Scratching my neck and yawning hugely, I made my way downstairs. Bleary eyed, getting to the door was quite difficult. Waking up at four in the morning with a caffeine headache wasn't the best thing that ever happened to me. Of course, it wasn't all caffeine-headache. Could be a good bit of backlash from my breakdown as well. My head wasn't feeling fussy any more, so the spell Lucas had mentioned could be one he'd cast on me to keep my headache away.  
  
Getting to and from the kitchen was quick work, and this time no one caught me. I brought the coffee back with me, and settled down at my desk, up in the dormitory. The fluttering light of the candle wasn't enough to wake anyone up; Draco had always been a heavy sleeper, at least at Hogwarts, and Crabbe and Goyle kept snoring like earthquakes. No fear of them waking up. I flipped through the pack of papers Linden had given to me. A slip of permission that I could show on the way in and out of the Ministry, because he'd said I'd need to come back, to train my wild magic. A note with the names of books he thought I needed to read. He'd sent a letter to Dumbledore, so I didn't have it. And so the most important of all; the little piece of paper that confirmed me as legally insane.  
  
A nice, innocent piece of paper, with words that, if taken separately, were nice and innocent as well. But if read as a whole, they were rather frightening. It stated, quite simply, that I was insane. I was mad, had no control over my mind, over myself. A horrible thought, but there it was, black on white, stating that I was a nut case. What a nice thing to find out only a few weeks away from end-of-term. Nice thing to find out at any time. Burying my head in my hands, I concentrated on not having another breakdown. My emotional state was anything but stable, and Linden had mentioned something about great emotional shocks could trigger another attack. I didn't want Draco and the others to wake up to their drapes being ripped away and their beds torn apart.  
  
"Better put these away," I whispered, and took all the papers and stuffed them under the floorboards, just underneath my desk, where I'd kept a lot of things secret over the years.  
  
There was a lot of things down there. A blue thread. A piece of a glass marble I'd found on the stairs. Some ripped pages of an old diary, written by someone named Myrtle. A picture I'd found forgotten in a hallway last year, and kept out of wanting to have something that wasn't truly mine. It was a picture of Potter and Granger, probably taken by Weasley. At first, I'd thought about throwing it away, because it was Potter on it, but I'd changed my mind and kept it instead. There wasn't a real reason for it, just a feeling that it would be a nice keepsake.  
  
It must have been taken on Christmas. Potter and Granger were still in their pyjamas, sitting on a bed with red and gold drapes. There was a pile of presents in front of them, wrapped in a wide variety of paper. Granger was smiling, looking at Potter, who was staring at the presents with the oddest expression on his face. The picture had been taken with a Muggle camera, so it wasn't moving, which made the picture even odder. Muggle cameras weren't supposed to work at Hogwarts with its high-level concentration of magic, but somehow it had, and had captured the odd expression on Potter's face. I'd never seen him look like that before, nor had I seen Granger smile quite like that. It was like looking into a frozen moment of someone else's life, a forbidden something that should have been kept personal, and away from my prying eyes. And I kept it under the floorboards, and didn't look at it. Just knowing it was there, and I could take it out at any time and look at it gave me a feeling of triumph. I'd taken a moment from their lives.  
  
I stuffed the papers under the floorboards, and got up. Four in the morning, altogether too early to get up, and altogether too late to go back to bed. There was no choice but to stay awake. Coffee surely helped, but I needed something with which to distract myself. Perhaps I would play chess, only there was no one to play with. Well, I could play with myself. I wandered downstairs and settled myself in at the chessboard. Slytherin had somehow gotten hold of one of the most beautiful chess-sets I had ever seen. The board wasn't just a board; it was a tabletop, a table used for nothing but chess. The pieces were beauty beyond compare. It just might be the distraction I needed to stay awake.  
  
******'  
  
"Blaise, where the hell have you been?"  
  
"Why, are you always this cheerful in the morning, Agnes?"  
  
"Only when idiots like you disappear for hours on end," She replied and settled herself in the chair opposite my own, across the chessboard. I looked up and managed a weak smile at her, which attempted to be innocent but failed as always. "So tell me, why were you gone yesterday?"  
  
"Detention." I told her shortly, "Lucas had me going around the grounds helping Hagrid. Had to be out for hours. I didn't have to do anything special, just keep track of his drooling dog."  
  
"Tough," Agnes wrinkled her nose.  
  
I smiled slightly, but didn't lift my eyes from the board again. Since I'd been unable to fall asleep again, I'd kept myself entertained by playing chess, with myself, and it was going quite well. I'd won about half of the games. Losing to oneself could seem a bit strange, considering I played both contestants, but I had played myself into quite a few corners. Agnes studied me as I moved the pieces about, and raised her eyebrow. Apparently playing chess on my lonesome wasn't considered healthy in her eyes.  
  
"So, have you been keeping everything straight while I was gone? No vicious in-House quarrels? No breaking of Weasley noses?" I asked, moving to take a pawn.  
  
"Nothing," She shook her head almost sadly.  
  
"Nothing? Nothing at all?" I raised my eyebrow, and she nodded, "Do you expect me to believe that in the four days I haven't been all here, the Slytherins have been sitting around being nice to each other? Go tell your bed-time stories to someone else, alright?"  
  
"Of course we haven't been nice," Agnes protested, insulted that I could even suggest such a thing, "We aren't turning into saints, Blaise. We've merely not caused as much trouble as usual. What do you take us for? Gryffindors?"  
  
"No, I never would take you for a Gryffindor, Agnes," I shook my head and snorted, "You're a Slytherin to the core, something you should be damn proud of. No, Gryffindors aren't worth the trouble. The only one who seems to know how to spell civility in that House is Granger, and that's only because she's read the dictionary in her spare time."  
  
"She's been looking at you a lot lately, though," Agnes grinned evilly, "You gotten yourself an admirer you haven't told us about?"  
  
"Not hardly," I snorted.  
  
We exchanged a few more insults, a few more pleasantries, before she left to see if Theo had woken up yet. After winning the game I was playing, I put the pieces back in their original positions and leaned back in the chair. So Granger had been watching me. Interesting. I'd noticed that she'd watched me a bit, and scribbled furiously while doing so, but if Agnes, who nearly never was around me noticed, it had to be more than that. She'd been watching me, for no apparent reason, since the duel with Potter and Moon's disappearance. It was time to find that reason out. Stalking was definitely an option, but after I'd gotten myself some breakfast, and if Dumbledore had gotten the letter, a meeting with him.  
  
*****'  
  
The password to Dumledore's office turned out to be something I'd never heard of before. Sounded like some obscure Muggle candy. I counted the steps on my way up, just to put off the inevitable. Dumbledore didn't like me, I knew that. He didn't like any Slytherin, and me much less since I'd gotten into a fight with a Gryffindor. Hopefully, the letter Linden had written to him, and the coffee I'd drank would make it all better. Or at least seemingly better. The headache had faded somewhat, so that at least wasn't a worry any more. I reached the top of the stairs, and held up my hand to knock on the door, when Dumbledore called for me to enter.  
  
"Why, come in Mr Zabini." He sounded horribly cheerful.  
  
Dumbeldore's office was without a doubt the strangest place I'd been in, including the Department of Mysteries. Silver things with spindly legs seemed to occupy every flat space, and the walls were lined with paintings. The rug on the floor was nothing short of psychedelic, and the perch in the corner held an incredibly ugly bird. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, smiling widely. Creepy, that man was. I settled down in the chair in front of the desk, and stayed silent.  
  
"How are you feeling?"  
  
"Other than a headache, I'm fine," I shrugged awkwardly. "I'm the resident madman, but I'm fine."  
  
"Ah. I always thought that title belonged to me," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled when he spoke, "But the time has come to hand it over. Mr Helling wrote to me and told me about your little problem. He believes you need training for it, though exactly what led him to believe that he doesn't say, but that might be because he is a bit absent-minded in his writing. Would you please explain to me what happened to make Professor Lucas so suspicious?"  
  
"I snapped. I'd been stressed and worn out since my duelling class, and after spending time in the hospital wing and not quite recovered, a bit of anger was all it took to make my control snap in half." I stared at my feet, "I sort of demolished Professor Lucas's office completely. Madame Pomfrey wasn't happy with me, but she couldn't throw me out of the infirmary since I hadn't been flying in the rain. And I told L – Professor Lucas that I'd been having a headache for quite some time, and then he went really close-mouthed and refused to tell me anything. The day I was released from the hospital wing, he dragged me off to London and the Department of Mysteries, and Linden confirmed I was insane."  
  
Aware that I was rambling, I snapped my mouth shut. Dumbledore twinkled at me, and smiled. I was incredibly nervous, and I always rumbled when I was nervous. The Headmaster had always succeeded in making me off-balance, and now was no different.  
  
"He might have phrased it that way, but you aren't insane, Mr Zabini." Dumbledore shook his head, "You've merely lost control over your magic. Your mind is perfectly fine, I can assure you of that."  
  
"You haven't been in it, I hear," I mumbled, just catching myself before I rolled my eyes.  
  
"Mr Helling has asked me to give you permission to visit them again, to train your magic." Dumbledore went on as if he hadn't heard me, "You will be going back there in a week. Mr Helling will send someone to pick you up at King's Cross."  
  
The twinkling was going to make me nauseous one day. Nodding, I stood up, deciding I was done with the meeting. There wasn't really anything left for him to say. Dumbledore didn't stop me, so I nodded goodbye and walked out of the office. Next stop on my list was finding Granger and watching her to see if she was watching me. First thing I had to do was to find out where she was. Stopping by the library might be a good thing.  
  
*******'  
  
I hadn't meant for it to go that far.  
  
Watching Granger was simply done because I wanted to find out why she was watching me. Finding an empty table in a deserted part of the library was done because I wanted a place to sit where I wouldn't be bothered by others. Staring at her over the top of a book was just a good way of not getting detected. The staring was just done to see if she watched me.  
  
I spent two days doing nothing but sit in that library. I learned everything there was to know about Hermione Granger, everything that was possible to learn through looking at her. After three days, with lessons squeezed in somewhere, I could tell if she was happy or not just by looking at her face. After four, I'd learned that she gestured wildly when she was annoyed or angry. Weasley had made a fool of himself as usual, and she snapped at him. After five, Millicent and Agnes came looking for me. I got away with the excuse that I needed to study for Arithmancy, which none of them took.  
  
The time wasn't only spent watching Granger. Even though most of it was, I was actively trying not to think about my insanity. No matter what Dumbledore said, I sure felt insane. Watching Granger just distracted me, that was all. Watching her wasn't really important; I only did it to keep tabs on her. I could stop any time I had to, but by the sixth day, it had become a habit, and a fascination. A habit, because Granger was reliable like clockwork. A fascination because it amazed me that Granger never noticed what I was doing.  
  
More than once during those six days, I had to concentrate on my book, staring so hard at it that the letters blurred, because she watched me. It would start the same way each time. She would glance up from her work and casually glance over to where I was sitting, and move her quill from her homework to a separate parchment and either scribble something down or cross something out. Every once in a while, just to scare her, I looked up, as if by coincidence and met her eyes. She would look away immediately, and I would return to my book for a while before watching her again. The constant little game of who-caught-who kept her on her toes.  
  
Lucas came looking for me after dinner on Friday. I'd spent all day after lessons avoiding Millicent and Draco, who were pestering me about my seemingly endless quest for Arithmancy books, and conveniently ending up in the library because of it. Granger was there on time, just like the blessed clockwork she ran like, and I spent an hour and a half watching her from behind the shelves before Lucas found me.  
  
"Zabini, it's time for you to go now," He said. "The train leaves in fifteen minutes. You do remember you're going to London today, right?"  
  
"Back to the madhouse then," I sighed, "Do you think they've found the coffee machine yet?"  
  
"Not likely; none of them are very keen on coffee, except maybe Anja, and that's when she can't find her cigarettes." Lucas shrugged and steered me towards the large double-doors of the library.  
  
"Millie and Agnes and Draco and Theo will wonder where I am," I pointed out, rambling and sounding like a child while trying to look over my shoulder without being too obvious about why.  
  
Granger was still sitting at her table, but was following us with disapproving eyes. I raised my eyebrow at her, and she glared before looking down again. Lucas shut the doors, just as I saw her ink-stained hand travel from her homework to that parchment, quill held high. The thud of the library doors falling closed had never sounded so deep before.  
  
"I'll give them a sufficient excuse." Lucas assured me, "If you don't go now, you'll miss the train."  
  
One last look at the library doors, and I turned to go. Each step brought me farther away from a habit I'd formed over seven days, a habit which ha kept me from going down in flames again, and now I was going back to re- face it. Which was nothing short of ridiculous. My Granger-watching-habit shouldn't be what kept me from losing it. Playing chess with Agnes, insulting Millicent and hitting Gaspar over the head with something heavy and blunt should.  
  
The train-ride was a blur. Some foreigner next to me kept asking me about London, not giving up even after I gave him the almighty glare of death. After a few failed attempts, I pretended to be mute and deaf. Still didn't work. Giving up completely, I pretended to fall asleep. That worked, but only because we were ten minutes away from King's Cross. I did fall asleep for about two minutes, and awoke with memories of a strange dream involving red eyes, laughter and a cat. Shaking it off, I made my way off the train, followed by a gaggle of what I presumed was tourists. They were speaking Japanese, and pointing at everything they saw.  
  
"Zabini!" A voice with an all too familiar Scottish accent called out.  
  
Basil was standing by the entrance, waving for me. He was wearing the most ludicrous ensemble of clothing, Muggle or wizard, known to man. It was eye- blinding. It was horrible. It was tartan and plaid and electric blue. It looked as if he'd dressed in the dark, drunk, using the left-over clothing from a particularly wild masquerade, which had included clowns with boxing gloves, flying Scotsmen and Albus Dumbledore. It made me want to vomit. How he ever got from the Ministry to King's Cross without being arrested for breaking all laws of fashion was beyond my comprehension.  
  
"I will ask this only once, and only because I've a morbid curiosity that is going to kill me one day," I said, holding up my hand to stave off any further talking, "What possessed you to dress like that?"  
  
"This was all that was left in the clean-clothing pile," Basil shrugged, "Anja stole the only clean black shirt yesterday, so I had to take this. It isn't too bad, is it?"  
  
"You just keep telling yourself that," I managed weakly.  
  
Basil mumbled something, and suddenly he was holding my robes. In my school uniform, sweater, trousers, shoes and tie, I made a much saner and less head aching impression than he did. In only my school uniform, I could pass for a Muggle school boy. Detachedly, I wondered why Lucas in all his wisdom hadn't come up with that idea. Maybe he just wanted to show off his magic or something. But then again, even in only my uniform, we would have made quite the picture, what with both of us being taller than average and both of us having odd coloured eyes.  
  
"Come on then; Linden hates when I'm late." Basil pointed towards the entrance and stepped through suddenly.  
  
The Muggles pointed and laughed at Basil, who took it rather well, if he even noticed. He seemed preoccupied, and was counting something on his fingers, talking under his breath the whole time. The walk to the Ministry seemed shorter, and going down in the phone booth wasn't as exciting as it had been a week ago. The Ministry was still as busy, though I noticed something strange on our way to the Department; all visitors lined up before a desk behind which a bored-looking wizard sat. He took their wands and weighed them before giving them back and writing something down. I didn't have to do that. Odd.  
  
"Two days, no, three before the next time," Basil mumbled distractedly, "Give or take a few hours. That makes fifteen."  
  
I raised my eyebrow. It seemed all Department of Mysteries-employees had their oddities. Linden was absent minded, Anja sarcastic and cynic, and Basil counted a lot and wore eye-blinding clothing. And chased the coffee machine. For a split-second, I wondered how the coffee machine had gotten lost in the first place; it couldn't just have gotten up and walked away, could it?  
  
The other people around us were giving Basil some strange looks. Couldn't blame them, really. The man was wearing an electric blue poncho and a kilt after all. The man who had been there last Friday, the Slavic looking one, was there this time too. He watched Basil and me with something akin to amusement, and shook his head several times, muttering in what sounded like Russian. I resisted the urge to smack Basil over the head when he started humming on an old Celestina Warbeck hit that my mother loved, and forced myself to remain calm. The Ministry employed a lot of strange people these days.  
  
Take that guy by the door for example. His hair looked as if it hadn't seen water since the last monsoon, and to call his clothing rags would be an insult to rags world-wide. And yet the pin that proclaimed him as a member of the Department for Regulation of Magical Creatures shone brightly on his chest. Basil looked tame by comparison. No wonder things were going down-hill for the Ministry these days. I shook my head and stared at the ceiling, waiting for us to reach our floor and the doors to open. It was going to be a long day.  
  
******'  
  
Ending Notes; Blaise does get around with some strange people, eh? Hopefully, this will make more sense later. 


	18. Playing Politics & Judging Too Fast

"Basil, you bloody peacock, what are you wearing?" Was the greeting Anja gave us when we came through the door.  
  
"Leftovers," He replied, somewhat cryptically. "You've my shirt."  
  
I would have pointed out his obviousness, but the shock of the black room not being black any more and not having hundreds of handle less doors was rather too big. The room, which one week previously had been all black, including floor and ceiling, was now an office, with four desks and more paperwork than I had seen in all my years in the Hogwarts library. There was even some folded and stuck behind a painting of Barnabas the Barmy on the wall. The portrait of the less-than-sane wizard in purple robes with blue dots and yellow stars on seemed strangely appropriate in the Department of Mysteries.  
  
"I know. Have you voted yet?" Anja asked, flipping through an old book mindlessly.  
  
"Nope. Had to pick up this at King's Cross. Where's Linden?" Basil sounded cheerful even as I scowled at him for being referred to as "this".  
  
"In the kitchen." Anja gestured at the door behind her.  
  
There was a chair behind me, thankfully, because I collapsed on it and buried my head in my hands. The last few months of my life had made no sense whatsoever, and now it had gotten even worse. I'd gone insane, and due to the insanity I was being forced to work together with people who were even more insane. Anja's cigarette smoke invaded my nostrils and I waved it away, annoyed.  
  
"Do you have to smoke those inside?" I asked, "Some people do try to breathe, you know."  
  
"I can't do my job without them," Anja replied "Keeps my nerves from breaking completely."  
  
"Ah."  
  
Linden came out of what Anja had pointed out to be the kitchen, carrying a cup with a spoon in it, with a pack of paperwork under his arm. After some half-hearted clean-up work, he managed to excavate a chair and sat down, taking off his glasses and spooning something out of the cup and eating it. He was ignoring me, and everyone else. Basil came bustling out of the kitchen, carrying a teapot and muttering under his breath about the innate evilness of tea. Mad. All of them barking mad.  
  
"Am I supposed to sit here all day?" I queried after about ten minutes of silence, broken only by Basil and his curses over the teapot.  
  
"Oh, no, certainly not. I've a book for you to read." Linden sprang back into the here-and-now part of procedures. "Read the first chapter; it's on refocusing and gathering up stray magic."  
  
The book was old and dusty, like most things in the Department of Mysteries. Just turning a page caused a large cloud of dust to surge up from it, and I spent most of the time coughing. The language used was old and complicated, so it took me some time to understand what they wanted to be said. It was all about being calm and tracing one's magic and gathering it up again. Load of rubbish, really, since it took me till the second chapter to learn how to do it, because some idiot had ripped out pages. After a while though, I got it good enough to round up enough stray magic to get my headache to fade.  
  
I practised for a while, my headache fading more and more, until I didn't even feel it any more. It took me hours, but I finally got it. By the time I was done, it was well past dinner, and the only thing I'd gotten to eat was half a sandwich, from Anja around dinnertime. I was exhausted. It was hard to even keep my eyes open, but I had gotten the control-thing down to pat. I still couldn't perform magic properly without getting a headache, but now I didn't have it all the time. Slamming the book closed, I leaned over the table and buried my face in my hands.  
  
"Tired?"  
  
"You don't think?" I bit back at Anja, who leaned over me with a cup of coffee in her hands, "I've been leaning over this damn book since lunch, and all I've learned is how to exhaust myself most effectively. That coffee has better be for me, or I'm going to have another breakdown. What time is it?"  
  
"Some hour after dinner." Anja shrugged. "And yes, the coffee is for you, though if you want another one, Basil threatens to quit. That coffee machine is nasty, apparently."  
  
Greedily, I grabbed the cup and drank. I couldn't have cared less about Basil and his trials with the coffee machine, and after that coffee cup, I could finally open my eyes fully. Life was suddenly bearable again. Nothing looked as bad after coffee. Not even a three-hour lesson with Hagrid on Manticores and their mating habits was as bad after coffee-intake. I smiled at the world, which greeted me with a snort and a sigh courtesy of Anja. Linden appeared out of thin air next to her, though without the audible pop associated with Apparation, so I assumed he'd just stepped out from behind a bookcase or a stack of paperwork.  
  
"'Lo, Linden. You voted yet?" Anja asked, not even blinking at his sudden appearance.  
  
"Yes." Linden nodded, "Have you? It seems it's a three-way tie between us again."  
  
"Vote?" I piped up, wondering what they could possibly be talking about.  
  
"For Head of Department," Anja turned back to me, "We change our Head about twice every six months, and each time, we're permitted to vote, even though authorities never honour the result. We always vote for ourselves, so it really doesn't matter."  
  
"Ah. Who is your Head now then?" This topic interested me; maybe too many years of playing politics in the Slytherin Den had affected me.  
  
"Who is it? It's that Clayworth fellow, isn't it?" Anja asked her supposed- to-be superior Linden.  
  
"Horatio Clayworth, to be exact. He's a good Head, aside from the fact that he's never been here." Linden shrugged, "I don't even think he knows where here is. He tries, I can give him that, but the administrative weight of being the Head of Mysteries certainly weighs him down. It's a lot of writing letters to people to reassure them that we are taking care of things, when we in reality aren't."  
  
I was silent for a while, sorting out the information I'd gotten. I say, this was fun; politics had always been a hobby of mine, although politics on a small scale, like how to become the most popular in Slytherin. Determining who became Department Head was more complicated, and a lot more fun. No wonder Slytherins were so successful in the Ministry. Lucius Malfoy's ability to weasel his way into anywhere he wanted no longer seemed unreal.  
  
"But why not make someone better Head of Department? Someone who knows who you are, what you do and why you do it. It's logic," I pointed out. "Even if the workload is bad, it can't be as bad as this; you've got paperwork in here pre-dating the Library of Alexandria's destruction."  
  
"How? Even if we protested and campaigned of another, we'd never get it because we're underfunded and not as important as say, the Auror Headquarters." Linden pointed out, and Anja nodded. Basil appeared from the kitchen again, carrying a plate of what might have been his dinner and what might have been radioactive waste.  
  
"Wait a minute, wait a minute; not important?" I protested, "Is this, or is this not the Department Potter broke into earlier this year? Is this not the Department where Malfoy Senior, known Death Eater, was captured? Did I miss something?"  
  
"It is, but the Minister doesn't think Potter's important," Anja shrugged. "All he cares about his how much money he can earn on something, and whether or not it will make him look bad."  
  
The smile on my face was so wide it hurt. Anja had just provided me with the perfect solution to their problem. Why I bothered to care about their problems and hardships I didn't know; the politics of it was too fun to stop now. They might be the most mentally unstable group of misfits I'd ever met, but they deserved better. Maybe it was because they were helping me that I felt I had to help them as well. Whatever it was, I was much too far gone to stop.  
  
"Then, why not make him look bad? If we go to the press, and talk about how underfunded you are and what a threat that poses to the Ministry, don't you think we could get a better Head of Department?" I questioned, "Fudge would never accept that, though, and would counter with something worse."  
  
"The Bulgarian Minister is running a campaign in the paper, petitioning for more money for the Bulgarian Ministry," Basil put in from his desk. "They're underfunded."  
  
"And that, is exactly what we'll do!" I exclaimed, "Run an ad in the Prophet, in any other paper available, and get money, which will prove that we are useful for the Ministry, and Fudge has no choice but to give us a better Head!"  
  
"´Us´?" Anja inquired.  
  
"Well, you, but I'll help you." I sighed, "Honestly, I'm the only Slytherin in the area, aren't I? And as anyone knows, Slytherins are the best at these things."  
  
"I went to Durmstrang, boy, and that's a whole school of Slytherins." Anja snorted derisively.  
  
"Then you never had any competition, right? All Slytherins work to the betterment of their own situation, and means never stepping on anyone's toes, never earning enemies you could have done without," I rattled off, in full defence-mode. "Slytherins at Hogwarts though, have to fight the prejudices of Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, while at the same time playing their game well enough to work to their own advantage. We're just better. Don't be jealous; you're not to blame for it."  
  
I expected her to growl and snap at me, but she merely smiled. A plan was beginning to form in my mind already, for how to solve the problems of the Department, and Anja not being mad at me for insulting me certainly worked to my advantage. Basil finished his dinner, and Linden removed his glasses to clean them. A silent agreement seemed to have been reached. I was allowed to help them.  
  
****'  
  
It was pitch-black outside when I finally came back to Hogwarts. Linden had let me borrow the book, though he'd disguised it as a collection of History of Magic anecdotes. He'd forced me to practise the controlling even more after the coffee-break, and now I could control it even in my sleep, that I was sure of. The book went on to ridiculous lengths about control, and practising it until it became a habit that couldn't be broken. It was hard and exhausting, but I grit my teeth and told myself I would do it. That breakdown had been way too frightening.  
  
There had been nearly no one on the train ride back, except for a snoring heap of rags in the corner. I'd curled up and slept some myself. My head didn't hurt any more, but I was so bone tired that it was hard to keep my eyes open, even in the cool night air of late November. I pushed the door to the castle open, intent on heading directly to my bed, but stopped just short of the stairs down to the dungeons, halted by a voice.  
  
"Zabini, what are you doing up at this hour, alone?"  
  
Amazing how Granger managed to be everywhere, and managed to put so much anger and irritation into one sentence. I turned around slowly, to give me some time to plan my reply. Right, raise eyebrow, check, smirk, check. Intelligent reply, no, still nothing. Damn. Granger was standing on the top of the stairs, still in full school attire and the prefect's badge gleaming on the robes, looking incredibly annoyed. Sometimes, I wondered how she found the patience to be mad at everyone for breaking rules.  
  
"I am going to my dorm, to sleep." I said, "Or at least I was until you decided to stop me."  
  
After a whole week of just watching her, I could tell I'd made her furious. Her eyebrows knitted, her mouth started twitching and a muscle beneath her eye ticked. I was too far away to see the latter, but I knew anyway. Making her angry was a small triumph, but a triumph nonetheless.  
  
"Go back to your dorm before I take points from you," Granger snapped, spinning around and hurrying off towards where I assumed the Gryffindor Common Room was.  
  
Something fluttered down the stairs, just as I turned and caught my attention. A scrap of paper, folded many times and scribbled on with black ink. I picked it up and stuffed it in my pocket, intending to read it as soon as I was back in my dorm, and walked down the stairs. I really needed to sleep, and come up with a decent excuse to tell Millicent and Agnes and everyone else, just in case Lucas hadn't already.  
  
******'  
  
I spent that night sharing the Common Room with Theo, who snored like a herd of wild hippogriffs. The stairs had, when i reached the Common Room, seemed like an impossible thing to mount, and I'd collapsed in an armchair. The book was lying at my feet, and I'd curled up impossibly, legs over the armrest an back, and my back leaning against the opposite armrest. My head was tucked in against my chest, which earned me a spectacular crick in the neck, or so I discovered when Theo shook me awake the next morning.  
  
"Blaise? Blaise, come on, wake up!"  
  
"Shut up, Theo, I am awake," I mumbled, opening my eyes and peering at him. "Stop screaming; I haven't had my coffee yet."  
  
"Sorry," Theo smiled, "I'll just go see if Agnes is awake then."  
  
Finally a Slytherin boy with his head on straight, as opposed to Gaspar and myself. Gaspar couldn't see that Millicent was head over heels with him, and I was the most messed up Slytherin since Lucius Malfoy. At least Theo realised when a girl fancied him, which Agnes obviously did. I didn't know what it was with me and my habit of setting everyone up, or at least matching them up in my head, but I did, and could pass many boring hours that way. Stretching and hearing my back pop, I uncurled myself and stood up.  
  
"Finally back from London, are you?"  
  
Ah. Millicent. I should have known. She was rather like Granger in that aspect; being everywhere, that is. She was standing at the top of the stairs, coming down from the girl's dormitories, tapping her foot with a smile on her face. It was a nasty smile. It was the kind of smile a killer certain of its victim would wear just before a kill. I never was good at pulling off the innocent face.  
  
"Yeah." I nodded.  
  
"Lucas told us you went to London to settle something with your family's lawyers," She continued, looking a bit uncertain now, "What with your house and all."  
  
"Mhm. Look, Millie, I know you worry about me, but I really don't want to talk about that, please?" I requested with my best pleading voice.  
  
"Sure. We could talk about something else. Like why you've been staring at Granger all week." The razor blade smile was back.  
  
Ah. I should have known that question would come up. It wasn't as if it was particularly easy to miss my new habit. Scratching my neck, rather embarrassed, I tried to come up with a reasonable explanation. At the moment, the watch-here-because-she-watches-me excuse seemed kind of flimsy, and the long hours in the library really didn't have a reason. I had established on the first day that she was looking at me; all I had to do was find out why. And Millicent was smart enough to see through my lies. Better tell the truth.  
  
"Well, Agnes told me she'd been looking at me lately, and I decided to watch her, to find out why. Unfortunately, she didn't seem to have a reason." I shrugged. "So I watched some more. She still didn't have a reason, at least not an obvious one. The only thing I learned was how spectacular a Weasley-Granger fight is up close. No almighty slaps, but well raised voices. Good blackmail material that."  
  
"Blaise, you're rambling." Millicent pointed out, "Go ask her why, instead of stalking her, please?"  
  
"Oh yeah, let's watch me go right up to Granger, right under the noses of Weasley, Potter and that mad Irishman, and ask her why she's stalking me. Sounds like a wonderful plan. Right up there with planning my funeral, which we would need to do," I snorted and shook my head, "No thanks, I'll handle this my way."  
  
Moving towards the entrance, something bumped against my leg. Reaching down into my robe-pocket, I pulled out the piece of folded paper I'd found last night. Unfolding it and reading what was scribbled on it, I realised it was Granger's handwriting. It was the list I'd suspected she was writing every time she looked at me. But it wasn't just a list with my name on it, which I'd come to expect. At the top of the list, in Granger's overly neat handwriting, was the words ´Death Eater Suspects´, and a list of names, including Draco's, Gaspar's, Millicent's, Pansy's, Crabbe's and Goyle's and written last, with a lot of lines under it, my own. All in Granger's neat and precise writing, with additional notes, such as the ´uncertain´ behind Gaspar's name, and the ´definitely´ behind mine. That ´definitely´ was alarming. Granger was convinced I was a Death Eater.  
  
Anger would be too light a word to describe what I was feeling. I saw red, and crumpled the paper up in my hand. My hands were shaking. Slowly, I straightened up, and stared out into thin air, imagining things I wanted to do to Granger. Roasting her over an open fire was a good start. I was fairly trembling with rage.  
  
"I think that it is time I teach little perfect Granger a lesson in reality." I said quietly. "She's lost her grip on it."  
  
Millicent was left standing with her mouth wide open as I walked out, intent on finding and possibly killing Hermione Granger. I didn't care now that I would probably end up in a crumpled heap on the floor, bleeding in places I didn't even know I had; Granger needed to be set straight. Rage had taken over my brain completely, and I had stopped thinking. All I could focus on was that damned piece of paper, and Granger's perfect handwriting.  
  
******'  
  
My anger didn't fade as I raced through the corridors, paper crushed in my fist. A few Hufflepuffs were forced to scramble out of my way; I paid them no mind, but headed for the library. It was still early in the morning, but Granger would most certainly be in the library. Even if she wasn't, I could wait. Madame Pince looked at me disapprovingly when I came into the library, but I was too far gone to care. Looking around, I realised Granger wasn't there yet. I settled down at her favourite table, and waited. I could wait all day if I had to, and for this, I surely would.  
  
She came in an hour later, carrying an impossibly heavy book bag. Pince greeted her with a smile, which she returned, before heading towards the back of the library and her usual table. Which I was occupying. The crumpled up paper was lying on the table in front of me, black ink standing out like blood on snow. The bizarre comparison made sense in my less-than- sane state, as I had been imagining various bloody deaths for Granger over the last hour. She was whistling as she went, looking at the shelves. Suddenly, she stopped and started going through her bag, looking for something.  
  
Looking for her list.  
  
"You should keep better track of your belongings," I spoke up, fighting to keep my voice calm, "They might end up in the wrong hands."  
  
The effect would have been comical, if I hadn't been planning her funeral. Her head snapped around so fast that her unruly hair looked just like the mane of a lion. A lion on a bad hair day, but still a lion. I didn't go through any fancy eyebrow raising or glaring; I just sat there and looked at her. Anger, fear and shock flashed over her face in quick succession, as she set eyes on the paper, her damn list, on the table. It was obvious she was not happy about me having got hold of it. Well, she had only herself to blame. I was going to enjoy this. Picking the paper up and pretending to read it, I watched out of the corner of my eye as she became even more nervous.  
  
"This was an interesting read, Granger." I traced my name with my fingers, "I am curious as to how you came to these interesting conclusions."  
  
"I-I-I'm..." She stammered, clutching her bag and staring at me in fright.  
  
"Completely wrong," I finished for her, my anger returning, "I can see how to suspected Draco; his father is a Death Eater himself, and he's never been what you might call nice. But Gaspar? The only thing Gaspar has ever done to Gryffindors was when he was a third year and he hexed one of them for insulting his mother. Millicent was attacked by your so-called best friend, Weasley. The only people on this list who could possibly bear the Dark Mark after graduation is Goyle and Crabbe. And why, I pray, is my name underlined several times?"  
  
"I....I don't." She stammered some more, just for good measure. "I can't, I mean, I didn't."  
  
"Your grip on the English language is slipping Granger, as is your grip on reality." I informed her, "It is a simple question. Why have you underlined my name several times, and written a definitely behind it?"  
  
"I'm sorry," Granger backed away, and I realised I was standing up and walking towards her, paper still in my hand. She backed up against a bookcase, and stared up at me with nothing but fear in her eyes. Almost unconsciously, I put my hands on either side of her head and trapped her.  
  
"No you're not, not yet." I shot back, "Answer the question, and then I might consider you forgiven."  
  
"It's just that, after the disappearances," She spoke haltingly, clutching her book bag to her chest nervously, "Harry thought we should start looking around for Death Eaters. Snape was snatched from within the castle, so it had to be an insider. I thought I would make a list of likely suspects."  
  
"That still doesn't explain my name," I glared at her, "As I remember it, I spent the night that Snape disappeared in Professor Lucas's office, talking about my detention. I must have missed the kidnapped by minutes."  
  
"You've been behaving suspiciously," She nodded, as if to assure herself. "You've been scratching your arm a lot, and lurking around in strange places."  
  
"Scratching my arm a lot?" Now that was confusing, because I remembered doing no such thing.  
  
In the face of my confusion, Granger must have seen an opportunity. She ducked down under my arm and headed for the doors as if there were demons on her tail. I was left standing in the library, alone, and leaning with my forearms against a bookcase. The list was still in my hand, the ink smudging and staining my hands. Sighing heavily, I leaned my forehead against the bookcase and closed my eyes. I had been frighteningly close to another breakdown; I could feel the books shake under my hands as I leaned against them. They settled down, still trembling somewhat, and I noticed I was breathing as if I had been running.  
  
The lump in my stomach could be nothing but fear.  
  
*******'  
  
Ending Notes; there's a little Blaise/Hermione interaction for y'all. 


	19. Accomplishments of a Hogwarts Sixth Year

After the library incident, my carefully erected self-control had nearly crumbled again. There was something about Granger that made me lose control; no one managed to make me as angry as she did. My hands shook as I walked down to the Great Hall for breakfast. I'd stuffed the list back in my pocket, not really knowing what I would do with it, and ignored Pince's disapproving gaze on me as I stepped out of the library. I was trembling in the effort of keeping myself walking, one step after another, and not breaking down.  
  
Millicent was at the breakfast table, and looked worried as I entered. A cup of coffee was placed in front of me, and I downed the lot as quick as possible, before leaning over the table and putting my head on my arms. My shoulders shook, and Millicent must have thought I was crying, because she patted my arm awkwardly. Agnes muttered something, Theo whispered to Gaspar, and Draco mumbled something about weaklings. Pansy slept in, like she always did on Saturdays. My friends gathered up around me, mumbling to each other, obviously worried.  
  
"Alright, you can stop whispering now. I'm fine," I said, after taking a deep, shaky breath. "Lost my temper a bit, that's all."  
  
"You lost your temper, did you?" Millicent snorted, and was followed up by Agnes, "Losing your temper doesn't cause you to come down here looking like a ghost and shaking worse than a plate of jelly."  
  
I scowled at her, but she was right. When I lost my temper, I just got angry and then calmed down and that was that. This time it was different. Granger and her bleeding list had unbalanced me so severely that even half an hour after the argument, I still felt drained and weak. I sat up straight again and stared blearily at the other House tables. The Ravenclaws were there bright and early of course, but there were only a few Hufflepuffs. Granger, the most annoying Gryffindor in the world, was sneaking her way over to her House table, looking mighty frightened.  
  
"Did you get a hold of Granger, then?" Millicent asked.  
  
"I did."  
  
"Well? What happened?"  
  
"She ran away." I shrugged. "I frightened her a bit, and after some stammering, she ran out of the library."  
  
"That's pretty stupid of you, really," Draco said, "She'll run straight to Weasley and Potter, and you'll be going to the cemetery in a matchbox. What'd you say to her anyway?"  
  
"I simply asked her why my name was on a list of names under the heading ´Death Eater Suspects´." I stared at the ceiling, "A list written by Granger. I didn't insult her or anything. I just warned her that leaving things around like that might make them wind up in the wrong places."  
  
"That's all you said?" Theo asked, disbelief in his voice, "Somehow, I don't quite think she'd run away for that. She's a Gryffindor for Merlin's sake."  
  
"I don't know, alright? Maybe I'm intimidating or something. Ask her!" I snapped.  
  
Standing up again and turning to leave, I thought I heard Agnes whisper to Theo, something that sounded like ´besotted´. If it hadn't been for my moral stopper that did not allow me to be violently abusive against my friends, she would have been a good way to having her funeral planned. I walked out of the Great Hall before they got any more ridiculous ideas into their heads. Snickers followed me out, but I didn't turn my head. I was much too tired and worn out to bother with dealing with them.  
  
'  
  
Half an hour later, I was curled up with my book in a corner of the library. The mental control was easy to re-establish, and when I got it down again, I moved on to the next chapter; actually doing magic. It was a lot more complicated than doing magic by wand; with a wand, you had the movements of it to help weave the spell, but with wand less magic it was much harder. You didn't have any movements to help you. All you had was a word and the magic in your head.  
  
I started with the simpler spells, like Alohomora. I'd managed to get hold of an old lock, and had it on the table in front of me. It was all about concentrating and focusing powers in one place, and saying the word. But, damn it, it was hard. My concentration kept scattering when other students talked or passed by on the other side of a thin set of shelving. Giving up on succeeding, I picked up my book and walked towards the doors of the library again. The practising had worn me down, and I was much to tired to turn on the filter that I always had on, to shut out the sounds of everyone talking.  
  
".... Rose said she'd seen Florence behind the greenhouses with a Slytherin!"  
  
".... And then the five over there becomes eighteen...."  
  
"...... What? Haven't you told Ron and Harry yet?"  
  
The last sentence made me stop and listen. It was Weasley's little sister talking, and she sounded upset and amazed at the same time. Stopping and leaning against a bookcase casually, flipping my book open, I eavesdropped on the conversation transpiring on the other side of the bookcase. Fortunately, I managed to fool a couple of Ravenclaws passing, so I didn't have to explain what I was doing.  
  
"No, I haven't. If I did, they'd go crazy, and I don't want a murder on my hands."  
  
It was Granger and Weasley's sister, then. Wonder what they were talking about; maybe Granger lost something else she should have kept track of. Must have been something very important, since she was talking about insanity and murders. Not that I would put it past Weasley. Potter, maybe, but Weasley wouldn't be above it at all.  
  
"But seriously, you should. I mean, he threatened you, didn't he? And everyone knows Zabini's dangerous." Weasley's sister went on. I looked up from my book in shock. They were talking about me? "I think you should tell them; this definitely proves you were right about him. Come on, please Hermione; it would make me so much calmer if you told them."  
  
"Ginny, if I just leave it alone, and don't bother him, it will be perfectly alright. Even if he is a Death Eater, he wouldn't attack me; I'm too close of a friend to Harry." Granger pointed out logically. She was wrong, but logical. "He might be evil, but he isn't stupid."  
  
Well. It was common knowledge that when you eavesdrop, you only hear bad things about yourself. I'd proved that wrong; it wasn't good to be called evil, but at least Granger realised I wasn't stupid. I leaned closer, careful not to disturb any of the books. Granger knew the library better than anyone but Pince did, and if she noticed the books moving, she'd get suspicious and go to investigate, and I'd be discovered.  
  
"But Hermione..." The little Weasley sighed.  
  
"Now, come to think about it, he did have a right to do that; it was kind of an insult." Granger prattled on, "Besides, I'm not even sure he is a Death Eater. He's the most likely, aside from Malfoy, but you have to admit it is a bit extreme."  
  
Could she make up her mind? First she though I was a Death Eater, and then she didn't. That seemed to be the end of the conversation, because Granger shuffled about behind the shelf, followed by Weasley's admonishments. Granger ignored them, and I was just about to leave when I realised that the only way out of the library was through them. I froze in panic, but as I didn't want to make anyone suspicious, I snapped my book shut and started slowly towards the corner around the bookshelves. Gritting my teeth, I kept walking.  
  
We smashed into each other just as I stepped around the corner. She tumbled to the floor, or would have, if I hadn't caught her arm. It wasn't something I'd planned, it just happened. As soon as she saw it was me, I let her go, and glared at her darkly, before stepping past and walking away. The little Weasley glared at me, but I ignored her. I had had it with all self-important Gryffindors and all suspicions about Death Eaters and conspiracies. I didn't care any more. Pince must have gone crazy when I slammed the door behind me, but I just pushed my way through the group of students outside.  
  
I needed to find some place where I wouldn't be bothered by Gryffindors or meddlesome friends.  
  
'  
  
The end of November was unusually cold, and snow was already starting to fall. From the top of the battlements, the grounds looked as if they were already covered in snowdrifts. I crawled up on top of the wall, and opened my book again. Up there, I would finally get some peace and quiet. Maybe I would even manage to open the damn lock without trouble. I wasn't supposed to bring books outside when it was snow, but it wasn't a library book and therefore Pince couldn't punish me for anything. Besides, the battlements was the only place where I could get some peace and quiet.  
  
"Alohomora," I pronounced clearly, staring at the lock.  
  
It flopped, and lay still again. But still, it was progress. In the library it hadn't even flopped. Grinning slightly, I tried again. Something clicked inside, but it didn't open. Even more progress, and I was delighted. A few more tries, and it clicked open. If I hadn't been sitting on the battlements, inches from falling down, I would have jumped up and down like a madman. I had accomplished my first magic without a wand. It was just as wonderful as my first magic with a wand. Just for good measure, I tried again.  
  
"Alohomora." And the lock opened.  
  
"No taking library books outside in the now, you know that Zabini." Filch growled, as he appeared beside me.  
  
"How good for me that I haven't then, wouldn't you say, Mr Filch?" I answered, without looking up from my lock. "This is a book I owled from home, so I can take it anywhere I want to."  
  
Filch grumbled, but was slightly mollified that I'd given him the title of ´Mr´ instead of just his last name. Muttering to himself about cats and libraries, he turned around and disappeared the way he came from. Now, this was a good day; learning one spell without wand, and getting on more friendly terms with Filch. Surely that ought to outweigh the bad stuff, like the library thing with Granger. I still wasn't sure what that had been; I hadn't really told her anything, except that her list was ludicrous. But she'd begun to doubt the correctness of that list. That was one accomplishment. Not a big one, but it was there nonetheless.  
  
One wand less magic accomplishment was definitely enough for one day, and I needed lunch anyway, so I packed up my things and started down the stairs again. The stairs were enough to make anyone cower; seven sets of staircases, with between fifty and a hundred stairs in each one. It was needless to say, easier on the way down than on the way up. My knees didn't hurt as much. The things I did for a bit of privacy were amazing. Millicent would, in true Millicent-fashion, berate me for going out in such cold weather without my winter cloak, but it was worth it.  
  
But worry later; now food was my highest priority. The words of Anja's when she first saw me had stuck in my head; I really did need to eat more. I just hadn't been hungry with my constant headache. Before that, I had been hungry; it was just that then I had been growing so much vertically that it was hard to put on weight. Maybe it was time to catch up a bit; being able to hide behind a pole lost its appeal after a while.  
  
'  
  
Millicent's face was a study in shock when I sat down at the table with a huge grin on my face and started eating like crazy. Theo even went as far as to pinch his arm to check that he wasn't dreaming. Today's lunch wasn't bad; my constant favourite of mashed potatoes and sausage, and a glass of pumpkin juice to go with it. Gaspar arrived late, looking harried, but when he saw that I was eating with enthusiasm, he experimentally picked up a pea and bounced it off my nose, judging my reaction. I looked at him, smiled and waved, and went back to eating. Agnes said what they were all thinking.  
  
"Blaise, are you ill?"  
  
"Nope. Insane, yes, always have been, but not ill no." I shook my head. It felt good to tell someone about my confirmed insanity, even though only through a joke, and I grinned. "Anja told me that if I didn't eat, she'd force me to, and she's scary, so I eat."  
  
"Anja?" They chorused.  
  
"Bird who works at the ministry," I gestured with my fork, "Downright frightening she is. Really shouldn't talk though; she smokes like a chimney, and I've never seen her eat anything."  
  
"Never seen her – Blaise, have you been there before?" Pansy broke in.  
  
"Well," I was caught, and did my best to come up with a good way out of it. Telling the truth was the easiest and most painless way, "Remember my detention after the fight with Weasley? Afterwards, I didn't go directly back to the castle. Lucas took me to London and the Ministry."  
  
Only half the truth, but good enough for now. They seemed to believe it, and I opened my mouth to embroiderer some on the truth when the double doors of the Great Hall were thrown open and Granger came marching in with a black look on her face. Weasley was running after her, but being hindered by his sister who tried to knock him out, apparently. Potter wasn't with them, because he was already sitting at the Gryffindor table, looking pleased with himself. That expression changed as soon as he set eyes on Granger. The holy rage of Hermione Granger wasn't something to joke about.  
  
The slap echoed through the Great Hall. It would leave a bruise that Pomfrey would have to take care of, certainly. It took a moment for reality to sink in; something unthinkable had just happened. Hermione Granger had just slapped the living snot out of Potter. Everyone was deathly silent. Weasley's sister clapped her hands over her mouth, and Weasley himself dropped his jaw so low it looked as it would never come up again. Not even the teachers dared to breathe. The unthinkable had just happened, so why not follow it up with something even more unthinkable. I raised my hands and started clapping. In the utter silence, it was impossible not to hear me, and everyone's attention turned from Potter and Granger to me. I kept clapping.  
  
Even Granger turned her head and stared at me. Slapping Potter deserved recognition, and a good one at that, so I stood up and kept clapping. Cain followed me hesitantly, and after him, Millicent stood up, soon accompanied by Agnes and Theo. Gaspar noticed we were all standing and scrambled to his feet. Pansy started clapping, but didn't stand up until Draco did as well. That was the sign for the rest of Slytherin to stand up and applaud Granger's actions.  
  
Never in the history of Hogwarts had that happened before. Since Salazar Slytherin left the castle, Gryffindor and Slytherin had been enemies, and for one House to stand up and applaud the other was unimaginable. Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws looked at us as if we were slobbering maniacs, while the Gryffindors looked absolutely flabbergasted. Weasley had stopped for certain, and Potter, after recovering from the slap, was staring at us as if we were Voldemort and his army applauding Granger. For all he was concerned, that was what we were.  
  
The clapping continued for about five minutes, before I abruptly stopped and picked up my book bag and walked out of the Hall. No good giving the Gryffindors too much of a boost of confidence. The clapping stopped gradually as I left the table. Over the utter silence, the applauding could be heard even with the doors to the Hall shut tight. Whistling as I went, I walked towards the Defence classroom. I would have to drop by Lucas and tell him of my progress. He'd want to know.  
  
Lessee ...... three flights of stairs, about twenty stairs in each, made close to sixty stairs. Coupled with the stairs counted on the way to the battlements, both up and down, that made around eight hundred stairs. No wonder I stayed as thin as I was. I worked off all my food the second I ate it. Hogwarts really needed lifts, like the Ministry had. Preferably without grinning Russians, but lifts all the same. Maybe there was some way of asking for that. Maybe I'd put my suggestion down with Dumbledore and see how he reacted.  
  
"It is not every day one sees a Slytherin whistling Muggle songs and counting stairs under his breath." Lucas sounded highly amused, "But since it is you, Zabini, I'll just pass it off as you being you. But how, pray tell, did you find out about such Muggle things as Metallica?"  
  
"Split-second Muggle terror," I replied cryptically, "Only ever listened to it once, but it stuck. Rather hard to get rid of, it appears. I have to talk to you though, about other things than Muggle music."  
  
"Come on then," Lucas turned on his heels and began walking back up the stairs to his office. "Since it's Saturday and no one in their right mind would try to seek out teachers, there's no one in my office at the moment. I was just organising my bookcase."  
  
"Oooh, sounds incredibly interesting. Have you found any ancient mysteries yet? They usually turn up in bookcases." I asked, "At least in mine. But they turn out to be leftover sandwiches most of the time."  
  
"Zabini, have anyone ever told you you're insane?" Lucas questioned as he pushed the door to his office open.  
  
"Four people already, if you don't count Draco and Pansy and Millie and Agnes and Theo and Gaspar. Cain has gotten around to it yet, but he will." I shrugged, "And I've got a certification on it as well, hidden somewhere in my dorm, if you want to read."  
  
"No, that is perfectly alright." Lucas shook his head, "What was it that you wanted to tell me?"  
  
"I did magic today!" I sounded like a little girl, squealing, but I didn't care.  
  
"Very good, Zabini. It is a great accomplishment for a Hogwarts sixth year." Lucas dead-panned.  
  
"And all sixth years do magic without a wand, do they?" I snapped. "I managed to open a lock half an hour ago, and my wand is still under my pillow."  
  
Lucas raised his eyebrow. I plopped myself down on a chair and inspected his rather messy office. There was no doubt that he was in dire need of either a live-in maid or a radical book-burning. There was books everywhere; it seemed he was using every available flat surface as a filing cabinet as well. His office was rather like that of the Department of Mysteries in that respect; but with less paperwork. Kind of like chaos, but less organised. Heaps, piles of Dark Arts books cluttered up everywhere, along with some obscure Muggle novels.  
  
"Do you need help organising, or shall I merely lend you a matchbox?" I ventured. Lucas sent me a look.  
  
"I'm perfectly fine, thank you. What has happened while I've been locked up in here?"  
  
"Aside from my marvellous progress in the field of wandless magic?" I raised an eyebrow mockingly, "Not much. I had a fight with Granger in the library this morning, scared her up a fright. She ran away. Drank breakfast. Eavesdropped on Granger and the littlest Weasley in the library. Climbed the stairs to the battlements and did the magic. Climbed all the way down again. Ate lunch. Granger slapped the hell out of Potter. Applauded her decision. Left. And that's all so far."  
  
"Granger slapped Potter?" Lucas made a disbelieving noise.  
  
"That's what I thought," I replied, "But when the wrath of Granger descends on the enemy, why protest? I'll find out why later though."  
  
"How?"  
  
"The amazing intelligence system that is the Slytherin-Hufflepuff cooperation." I grinned, "Based mostly on intimidation. You have no idea of how much people talk around Hufflepuffs. I'll find out, and if I don't, Millie or Agnes or somebody else will, and they'll tell me."  
  
"The system has not changed one bit since I graduated, it seems." Lucas smiled widely. "Tell me, do you still keep books under the floorboards in the sixth year boy's dorm? And is the picture of William the Scarred still handing out battle-tactics-advice to first years?"  
  
"The floorboards sound about right, but I've yet to meet the William fellow." I shrugged. I leaned my head to one side and inspected him silently for a moment, "I know you were in Slytherin, but I've gone through the yearbooks with enough thoroughness to scare anyone away, and I haven't found one mention of you yet. How come?"  
  
Lucas blinked. He stared at me with those uncomfortably unreadable red eyes and said nothing for a while. My question seemed to have unsettled him. Or maybe it was the way I asked it; he couldn't be used to students going around looking him up in yearbooks just to find out who he was. I was a bit odd in that way; all teachers and students from all years turned up in the yearbooks, but Lucas hadn't, neither as a student nor anything else. Some yearbooks were missing of course, but those were around fifty years old, and that was only a small gap. Besides, Lucas didn't look a day over thirty- five. Of course, he looked like a demon with those eyes and that hair too, but I was pretty sure about his age. Suddenly, he spoke.  
  
"That has its explanation, Zabini. I was probably removed from the yearbooks by Dumbledore himself, if not by someone else. I can't blame them; I must have been an incredible disappointment to them." He gave me a look and sighed, "I suppose everyone would find out sooner or later, given your track record with Defence teachers. It was Granger who first found out about Lupin, was it not? And Quirrel. And Lockhart, now that was an embarrassing fellow. That was Potter, and Weasley, right? And then Dumbledore himself with fake-Mad-Eye."  
  
"Get on with it." I interrupted.  
  
"I was stricken from the records most likely." Lucas shrugged, as if being erased from history didn't matter, "Not many have been, and in cases where the person was in too many of the pictures, the books were removed entirely. Unfair really, considering what everyone else has done and what I have done. By all rights, Lucius Malfoy's pictures should have been burned. But I am digressing. Due to certain things I did during my tenure at Hogwarts, and the things I did afterwards, I was taken out of the pictures in the yearbooks."  
  
"What did you do? Kill a unicorn?" I snorted. If Lucius Malfoy hadn't been taken out, I couldn't see what for a sort of crime he could have committed that was bad enough for him to earn that fate.  
  
"No. Never have, don't think I ever will." Lucas waved it off. "There was never a need for it, even though they are vicious beasts. No, I didn't kill a unicorn. I didn't rob a bank, I didn't commit homicide, genocide or fratricide, and I do not, so unlike many of my classmates, have a scull and snake on my forearm."  
  
"Then what?" I interrupted again, impatient with his slow re-telling.  
  
"I found some Dark Arts primers while going through the library in my fourth year. I read them, became fascinated and it went from there. By my seventh year, I could have duelled Dumbledore and stood a fighting chance, even though I would never have won. I wasn't the most powerful in my year, and certainly not the smartest. But I had a near-photographic memory. I can still remember every curse and every spell and every hex I've ever learned." He flashed a proud smile, which looked out of place on him. "Practising was obvious, and when Dumbledore found out three days before my graduation, he suspended me, but did let me graduate. He was disappointed in me, I fear. Throughout my years in the darkest den of pre-Death Eaters in Britain, he had some twisted faith in me not to go dark as well."  
  
He stopped and took a deep breath. I was too deep in the tale to even wonder why he was telling me all this, and stared at him silently. Not even from my father had I gotten a full account of his years in Slytherin, so I was incredibly interested in what Lucas had to say. After a short pause, he continued in his slow, quiet voice.  
  
"I didn't, I suppose. I was merely tarnished by them. Grey, if that's what you want to call me. Inevitable, really, with the company in those times. Parkinson, Malfoy, Lestrange and the Blacks, all three of them. Snape was a year below us, and the only Black in my year was Bellatrix. Mind you, Andromeda wasn't all that bad; just followed her sisters, but broke that up after Hogwarts to marry Tonks. Graduated some three years before me." His eyes glazed over as he spoke about his classmates. "I was always in the corner, with my books. They nagged me for that, but while I learned Dark Arts, they were stealing it from me and testing them on the Hufflepuffs. Never got in trouble for it; they were too much of Slytherins for that. I used to practise in the Forest, after dark. That's where Dumbledore caught me, hexing the leaves off a tree. I have never seen him so angry." The voice turned into a whisper, and I could see he was far away in his mind, "Or so disappointed. Though Severus could probably tell you more about that."  
  
Silence descended again, and I scarcely dared to breathe in fear of startling him out of his story telling mood.  
  
"I left school disgraced, and with Dumbledore's disappointment. I couldn't find a decent job, since the only classes I had above Poor in was Defence, Charms and oddly enough, Arithmancy. I needed at least three more N.E.W.T's to get a job, so I made my own profession. After rigorous training, I placed an ad in the Prophet, asking for anyone who needed the help of a Dark Wizard. Despite hopes of the opposite, someone answered, and it all went downhill from there. My skin paled, my hair grew even darker, and my eyes slowly but surely turned red. I was marked. Dumbledore found me a month before term, in a pub in Albania, trying to drink my liver into corruption. I'll never know why he asked me to take the job."  
  
"So you were....." I trailed off, wondering if my eyebrows would ever come down again.  
  
"A Dark Wizard, yes."  
  
'  
  
Ending Notes; crickets chirp Not entirely what I planned from the beginning, but hopefully good. The slap appeared while writing, and I have no idea where it came from. 


	20. Losing Control Again

To say I was stunned at Lucas's revelation was passing up on a chance to use to word paralysed. Our list of ludicrous Defence teachers had grown. A stammering idiot, a self-obsessed liar, a werewolf, a madman undercover, a Ministry bitch with too much power on her hands, and yet they all paled in comparison to this one. A Dark Wizard. And not any Dark Wizard either; a Slytherin who had been in the same year as Bellatrix Black, and all of which turned Death Eaters. Lucas sat silently and waited for me to say something.  
  
"Why are you telling this to me?" I asked finally. "How do you know I'm not going to go and scream my head off to every student in school?"  
  
"Because, Zabini, that would mean they would have to listen to you." Lucas raised one eyebrow, "You mightn't have noticed, but you aren't exactly the most popular student in the school. After your little fist fight with Weasley, most of them took his side, even though they didn't know the details. As a Slytherin, you had to be in the wrong. That's how they think, and that's how they will always think. But aside from that, it's because you remind me of myself at that age."  
  
"I do?" Now I was confused; at my age, Lucas had been well on his way into the Dark Arts, and had probably duelled with more illegal curses than I would ever know.  
  
"Yes. Think about it logically for a minute, Zabini. You might not be reading Dark Arts books, and you might not be practising curses on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, but aside from that, you are so much like me it is frightening." He leaned forward and inspected me. "You're alone. No matter how much to try to explain it away, you are. There's your friends, but you much prefer your own company. There's the constant conflict, recently shown in the fight with Granger. And let us not forget the fact that you then turned around completely on that issue and applauded her in the Great Hall. Such sudden turns were very much my trademark at school. The loneliness, the intelligence I know you have and the aggressiveness, along with the sudden mood swings, are all so like me it scares me sometimes."  
  
"So this is a warning to me, is that's what you're saying?" I almost laughed at the absurd aspect of me becoming a Dark Wizard.  
  
"Yes. And it is no laughing matter, Zabini. Slytherins have always been more in the risk-zone than any other House, and with all things that has happened to you, the possibility that you would slide off the edge to the Dark side of things is too great for me to ignore." Lucas looked much too serious to be laughed at. He looked at my everything but understanding face, and sighed, "Damn it, Severus should have been here; he is much better at scaring people off things than I am."  
  
"Nope, wouldn't say so; you're pretty frightening. Where is Snape, by the way?" I asked, steering him away from the whole Dark Wizard issue.  
  
"I don't know." Lucas shook his head. "But I know that he hasn't been kidnapped, so you can bury that suspicion now. Promise me something, Zabini; do not turn your back on everyone, and if you feel the slightest hint of turning to the Dark, come to me. Promise me that."  
  
"I will. I promise." I nodded slowly, "I have to go now; if I'm gone too long, they'll send out a search party after me."  
  
I stood up and headed out the door, moving around the dangerously leaning piles of books and odd instruments, muttering under my breath. Lucas had really put thoughts in my head now, and I wouldn't be able to do anything for the rest of the day unless I distracted myself. Just as I closed the door, I head him whisper something.  
  
"You don't know what you have, Blaise Zabini." Was what it sounded like.  
  
'  
  
The Slytherin Common Room was fit to burst with the buzzing noise of the Slytherins all talking at once. I found my group of friends sitting in their customary place in front of the fire, talking as well. Well, most of them were talking; Cain had stolen a pillow and was currently testing how good it was to sleep on. How anyone could sleep in the middle of the day amazed me, but he managed somehow. I stepped over him and collapsed on the rug.  
  
"See, the triumphant returns," Gaspar said, "Where have you been?"  
  
"Talking to our ever so mysterious Defence teacher." I said, "He's weird."  
  
"You don't say?" Agnes questioned, "He keeps looking at me as if I'm about to break down in tears."  
  
I bit my tongue to keep myself from telling her why. If Lucas's idea of helping me was unloading a heap of information on me that I couldn't share with anyone else, I didn't want to know what his idea of an unhelping hand was. Things had gone a bit too fast over the last few hours, so I decided to forget what Lucas had said, if only for a while, and hear around about what the case with Granger and Potter was.  
  
"So what's the deal with Granger?" I asked, seemingly out of the blue.  
  
"Hasn't your little stalker told you that?" Agnes snorted. "I asked around, and Bones told me. Apparently Potter thought it was a good idea to try to set Granger up with someone, and the choice fell on Weasley. Granger didn't like that at all, but Weasley did. Weasley tried to snog her, or so Bones told me, and Granger protested. Fight happened, in which Granger told him off bad, and Weasley's sister helped. Granger found out Potter planned it all, and goes to slap him."  
  
"Weasley tried to snog her?" I was shocked. "Why did she protest? Ever since the Yule Ball, she seemed all for him."  
  
"The minds of women work in mysterious ways, Blaise," Gaspar smiled.  
  
"That they do, and some men can't seem to see what's right in front of them." I raised my eyebrow at him, but he didn't catch my hint. "Weasley snogging Granger and Granger slapping Potter. You know, this has been a good day, fights with Granger aside."  
  
"Oh?" Draco questioned.  
  
"Yeah. Granger did us all a favour; if say Agnes had slapped Potter, she'd be expelled and excommunicated, but now that Granger did it, she'd only get a detention if she's got bad luck. Potter gets slapped, we don't have to do anything, a win-win situation." I pointed out, "And if Granger gets detention, it's just a bonus, eh?"  
  
"Brilliant, Blaise." Theo snickered, "We should thank her really. I would, of course, but I have a feeling she'd slap me too. Would you do the honours, Blaise?"  
  
"Why yes of course, and have Granger eat my heart out with spoon!" I grinned widely and extremely fake, "My mission in life!"  
  
"Cut the sarcasm, Blaise." Agnes snorted, "You know, you could put some weight on that warning of yours. See if you can get her to apologise for Weasley's abuse too. The fist fight, remember?"  
  
"Weasley's fist in my face isn't something that's easy to forget," I wrinkled my nose, "Oh fine, I'll go and get Granger and express the gratitude of all Slytherins. That fine with you?"  
  
They laughed me out of the Common Room, and Theo even went as far as shouting me a mocking good luck. Spinning around, I flipped them the finger like I'd seen Muggles do, and walked out hastily, before anyone realised what I'd just done. While neither Gaspar nor Draco nor Theo were impressive in their own right, and even though neither of them could take me out on their own, they could be dangerous all at once, and especially if they got Agnes and Millicent with them. Cain was still out cold, snoring.  
  
'  
  
Finding Granger wasn't easy. She wasn't in the library, and even though I had a vague idea of where the Gryffindor Common Room was, I didn't want to try my luck at finding her there. So I just wandered aimlessly around for a while. After some time, I'd managed to get completely lost. Stopping and beating my head against the wall for a moment before continuing, I decided that now was a good time to get lost; I had all day, all night and the whole next day to find my way back. I walked past a particularly nasty tapestry, depicting the death of Angharad the Great, and stopped.  
  
Someone was crying. It was faint, almost too quiet to hear, so it could be one of the paintings, but the only paintings in the corridor looked like they were all relatives of Christoph in the dungeon. Not very likely to burst out in sobs like a school girl. Wait, school girl. The sobs did sound less than male, and they were coming from the wall. Scratching my head did help this time, because the realisation hit me like a freight train. The tapestry. Sometimes, my own thick headedness astounded me. I pushed the tapestry aside to reveal a rather nice door, which was standing open.  
  
"'Lo? Anyone there?"  
  
More sobs. Something was seriously wrong. How perfect that I should get landed with comforting some random Hogwarts girl while looking for Granger. Never mind that looking for Granger wasn't something I wanted to do. All the more reason to get it over faster. Besides, I wasn't a very comforting person; I went more for the ´Belt up and stop wailing, brat!´ attitude.  
  
"Hel-lo? Whoever's-sobbing-in-the-closet-please-stop-now?" I called. Not the best line ever, but I didn't exactly care at the moment.  
  
"Go 'way."  
  
How curious. That sounded like Granger. But there was no reason for Granger to shut herself up in a closet behind a tapestry and sob her heart out. That was just stupid. Kind of like suggesting Crabbe do the Arithmancy homework for the Slytherin House and expect good results. Ludicrous, really, but stranger things has been known to happen. It was Hogwarts, after all.  
  
"I would, but you sound a lot like Granger, and that's who I'm looking for at the moment. As soon as I make sure you're not Granger, I'll leave," I promised. "How about that?"  
  
"What do you want?" Oooh, that annoyed tone was definitely Granger. This wasn't going to take nearly as much time as I thought it would. "If you hadn't noticed I'm busy, Zabini."  
  
"Well," I said, coming into the closet and the dark, and saw her sitting curled up in a chair, "I just wanted to thank you on the behalf of the Slytherin House. You do realise you've just done what we've all wanted to do for years, right?"  
  
"Oh please," She muttered, rolling her rather red eyes.  
  
"No, really. I can't count the times I've wanted to punch the lights out of Potter, and then you spared us all the trouble!" I grinned a little too widely. "Really nice of you. I was chosen by the almighty Slytherin counsel to come here and honour you with a medal; the Slytherin Cross."  
  
I made up the medal, but it had a nice ring to it. The Slytherin Cross, given to all worthy of it. I had to write that down somewhere and remember it. Granger raised her eyebrow sceptically, and managed to look every inch the stern prefect, even with red eyes and tear tracks down her cheeks. Smirking at her, I tried to convince her I was telling the truth.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Nope," Oh hell, I should have known I couldn't lie to her; not only does she make me lose my temper, she makes sure I tell her the truth too. "But since I'm feeling nice today, you'll get the Cross anyway."  
  
I took out my wand, or tried to, before I remembered it was still under my pillow in the dormitory. Right, judging from the sceptical look on Granger's face, I needed to get the Cross fast, or I'd be facing the same slap Potter had. I turned around and dug in my pockets desperately, for anything resembling a cross. I came up with some bent needles I'd twisted around each other one boring Transfiguration lesson. Now, what I needed was some of that Transfiguration. Unfortunately, the only thing I had to rely on was my more than unreliable wandless magic, and Transfiguration was among the most difficult magics too. What had McGonagall said about transfiguring small things into jewellery? To concentrate on a familiar form first, and have the thing resemble it to make it easier. Right, got both of those. The needles looked like a cross already, and since it was going to be a Slytherin Cross, I could go with snakes, which turned up all over the Common Room.  
  
I closed my eyes and concentrated on the picture of two snakes making a cross. Not knowing the correct spell, I reached out with my mind and twisted. It felt strange, nauseating almost, to do magic without wand or spells. It was like someone drove a stick into my brain and twisted, and I felt myself go green, but when I opened my eyes, I grinned. Despite the light-headedness, the nausea, and the certainty that I would have a headache the size of Rome in a few minutes, I had managed to transfigure the needless into something that resembled a Slytherin Cross. Completely made up, faked to the extreme and probably laughable, but still, it was mine. I turned around again.  
  
"Here," I tossed it at her, and she caught it, slightly startled, "I had to look around in my pockets a bit first. Now, I've got places to vandalise and people to terrorize. You enjoy your new medal, be sure to wear it sometime, I'll see you around. Ta ta."  
  
She certainly wasn't sobbing when I left her. It was more of a shock- amazement-I'm-going-crazy expression on her face. Nice to know I could still shock some people. If she wore the Slytherin Cross tomorrow, or even on Monday, it would be even better; a Gryffindor walking around, parading a cross of snakes on her robe would be perfect. Another crack for Potter's reputation. And maybe finally, Granger would get over the ludicrous illusion that I was a Death Eater. Come to think of it, I still didn't know why she had been hiding in a closet and crying.  
  
Not that it mattered.  
  
'  
  
Sleep was good. Sleep was wonderful. Pillows were nice. Beds were even nicer. Headaches were bad, and so were Draco who tried to keep me awake. Covers up over my head, good, Draco pulling them down and chattering, bad. Definition became so much easier with a headache and a wish to sleep. My hand shot up and fingers curled around his neck, nearly choking him in the process.  
  
"Go 'way." I told him sleepily. "Need sleep."  
  
"I'll go away as soon as you tell me what happened with Granger." Draco promised. "Come on, tell me?"  
  
"Foun' her. Thanked her. Got 'nother point f'r our side." I mumbled, face down in the pillow. "Pott'r won't be laughing. "  
  
"What did you do?"  
  
"You'll see tomorrow. Or Monday." I shoved him down on the floor and turned over, falling asleep almost immediately.  
  
I had been right; the headache had blind sided me as soon as I stepped inside the Common Room. It had turned out I wasn't as lost as I thought I'd been, and I'd found my way rather quickly. Maybe I should take walks while thinking more often; it led me right more often than not. What had puzzled me this time was Granger's lack of fear for me. I had pushed her up against a bookcase and acted more threatening in five minutes than Draco had in five years, and yet when alone in a closet with me, she barely raised an eyebrow. That girl was more than odd.  
  
'  
  
Sunday passed with nothing but nosey questions and some homework. Monday rolled around earlier than either of us wanted, but it was with a certain measure of excitement we left the Common Room that morning. I wanted to know if Granger would take me up on the challenge I'd present, though unspoken, and the others wanted to know what I'd done. Her lack of fear still puzzled me, but it wasn't as if it really mattered. What did matter though was whether or not she'd wear the Cross. If she did, I couldn't wait to see the expressions of Potter's and Weasley's faces. Agnes had pestered me for hours, even promised she'd sell her soul to Fudge if I told her what I'd done, but shaking with laughter, I'd refused. It had earned me a shoe to the head.  
  
Granger wasn't at breakfast, but I wasn't worried. We had Arithmancy after breakfast, and that meant I'd find out whether or not she'd worn the Cross. Ignoring my friend's nagging, I ate my breakfast. Lucas was at the High Table, an odd occurrence in itself, made odder by the fact that he was talking quietly to Sinistra, and even cracked a smile. Frowning again, I remembered what he'd told me. I'd been trying to forget, but it seemed he was determined not to let me do that. Which was good really; it would keep me on my toes – I'd learned how to deal with him now, I knew him now. And even though he'd shown the ultimate untrustworthiness, I knew I could trust him. He wouldn't think twice before stabbing someone in the back, which meant I knew where I had him. I could always trust him to be untrustworthy. It was the trustworthy ones I had to watch out for. He looked up and stared at me for a split second. A grin broke out over my face, and he raised an eyebrow.  
  
Just as I was about to nod or something, Millicent touched my shoulder, reminding me I had lessons to attend and a Cross to find. I stood up and walked out of the Hall whistling. I had been strangely happy these last few days. Must have something to do with the upcoming Christmas holidays.  
  
Vector was late, so I leaned against the wall next to the classroom door instead of going in. I could take whatever seat was left when she came. I was waiting for Granger. As was Granger's habit, I didn't have to wait long. She came walking down the corridor, looking immensely annoyed with something, and I noticed some Gryffindors further down the corridor were pointing at her and whispering. It was obvious why; pinned to her robes, right next to the Gryffindor lion, was my home-made Slytherin Cross. Had it not been incredibly embarrassing, I would I jumped up and down. We'd won another point in the never-ending Gryffindor-Slytherin game. It seemed we were getting out ahead on this one.  
  
"I see you have finally gotten some sense, Granger." I smirked, "The Cross wins us another point. Thanks for helping. I really do appreciate it."  
  
"Another point?" She echoed, confused.  
  
"In the game, of course. Slytherins always play games, and this is another one. We've got to keep ourselves entertained while avoiding the Death Eaters and being annoyed with the lack of Hogsmeade weekends, no?" I raised my eyebrow.  
  
To say she looked angry would be the understatement of the century. To say the slap hurt would be the understatement of the millennium. She raised her hand to slap me once more, but this time, I caught her wrist. Rage burned in her eyes, and she didn't even flinch as I glared at her. I had to give her that; she was a true Gryffindor in her bravery. But that slap had hurt, and I could already feel the bruise forming. She was in trouble now, Cross or not.  
  
"How dare you?" I asked slowly, so angry I wasn't thinking straight. "How dare you do that? You accuse me of being a Death Eater, you practically stalk me for weeks, you drive me absolutely mad in anger, and now you dare hit me?"  
  
"Let. Go." A flicker of fear, and then her anger was back.  
  
"Not. Yet." I answered. "I - "  
  
"Mr Zabini! Ms Granger! What are you doing?" Vector asked, aghast as she came walking down the corridor. "Fighting in the corridors, at your age! Detention, both of you, and I don't want to see you in my class today. Leave!"  
  
"Fine." I said, before letting go of Granger's wrist and storming down the corridor.  
  
In the background, I could hear Granger try to reason with Vector, but having no success. Vector might have overreacted, but it was oh so sweet to see Granger get detention. It didn't matter that I had detention as well; all that mattered was that she'd gotten what was coming to her. How dare that little perfect Gryffindor bitch slap me? She accused me of Death Eater- ship, she drove me mad, she slapped me, and through it all I had done nothing to deserve it. My temper was boiling, and I took the steps down to the Common Room three at the time, grumbling under my breath about evil Gryffindors and unfair detentions.  
  
My anger had triggered my headache again, which was reaching nausea-state. I didn't get further than the Common Room before I had to run up the stairs and into the bathroom. I reached it just in time to bowl over and start vomiting in the toilet. I threw up until there was nothing left to throw up, and I crawled to the wall, curling up and hiding my face against my arms. The headache slowly faded, even as my laboured breathing echoed in the empty room. I lowered my arms and stared out in the bathroom. A few of the towels were lying in a heap on the floor, and a bottle that had been standing on the sink was lying in a marvellous puddle of goo and glass- shards under it. Seemed I'd had another breakdown, but not as big this time.  
  
"How the hell does she do it?" I whispered into thin air. "How the hell does she manage to upset me so damn much?"  
  
Bowing my head down again, my shoulders began to shake. Not since my last breakdown had I been so upset. The tears came unbidden, and in my weak state it was impossible to stop them. The bathroom echoed with my strangled sobbing, and the mirror on the wall whispered to itself over and over.  
  
"How does she do it?"  
  
'  
  
Ending Notes; cue breakdown. Poor little Blaise. I can't remember when I tortured a character this much before. Oh. Wait. That would be Dante, the poor vampire who got stuck with a girl having her period. But that was last year, this is now, and I really do pity him. 


	21. Detention By Numbers

Detention. That's not a nice word when you think about it. Heavy and loaded with tension and fear, that's what it was. Awful word, really. Hated it, I did. I hated the concept even more. To sit in a room, or walk around the grounds, and do the most menial jobs possible together with the person you hated the most. What a way to punish people. Almost outright torture, it was.  
  
"Blaise, the fireplace hasn't done anything, so stop glaring at it." Pansy told me, amused, and broke me out of my thoughts.  
  
"The fireplace hasn't, but Granger damn well has," I muttered, not turning away from the fire.  
  
Pansy sat down next to me, and leaned forward. The anger of Granger landing me in detention was still burning hot, so I didn't even realise I was glaring at everyone around me. My jaws were aching, and I snapped out of whatever trance I had been in, realising I'd been gritting my teeth together to hard I could almost hear them crack.  
  
"And what has the Supreme Queen of Know-It-Alls done now? She told you how dangerous coffee is to your health?" Pansy snorted.  
  
"No. She got me in detention!" I snapped angrily, "The only thing I have to comfort myself with is that at least she got detention too."  
  
"Detention? What did you two do? Duel in the corridors?"  
  
"No. She slapped me, I caught her wrist, Vector thought we were fighting and gave us detention." I growled. The clock struck seven, and I scowled. "Time for detention, then. I'll see you afterwards, if I'm still alive."  
  
Pansy sent me away with a snort and a shake of her head. Apparently it didn't bother her that I was going to my doom. Considering that it was a detention with Granger, my chances of coming back alive was about the same chances as an ice-cube stood in the sun. Gryffindors were scary when they were mad, Granger especially, and she didn't exactly have a good reason to be happy with me at the moment.  
  
"If I die, I will make sure Granger comes to the funeral." I muttered to myself, walking down the corridor.  
  
When I arrived to the Arithmancy classroom, Granger was already there, seated in front of Vector's desk. She didn't even turn her head when I came in, and since Vector wasn't there and couldn't tell me what to do, I took a seat as far from Granger as possible, at the back of the classroom with my back against the wall. Having nowhere else to look, I studied Granger's rigid back, trying to figure out why she'd hit me. She'd been angry when I told her about the ever on going game of Slytherin and Gryffindor, that I could understand, but why did she have to slap me? Bloody Gryffindors.  
  
Vector came in, looking serious and carrying a few books. Unfortunately for me, they looked like Arithmancy books. We had missed the lesson, after all, so it would make sense that we had to make up for it in detention. It was just that right now, my head wasn't in it. In fact, my head was so far out of it that it could be without opening the window.  
  
"Since you both missed class earlier today, you will complete the assignments here." Vector told us, "I will be back in two hours and collect the assignments."  
  
Great. Numbers I couldn't make sense of, because I hadn't attended the lesson. Glancing up from the impossible numbers, I saw that Granger wasn't having any problems at all, or so it seemed. Quickly writing down random numbers as answers to the problem, I put down my quill and folded my hands over my chest. It was cold in the classroom, but that could of course be an effect of the fact that I was tired and already felt sick. I didn't have too much of a headache this time, but then it hadn't been that big of a breakdown. There was still an itch behind my right eye, and of course it was a headache, so I wasn't in a very good mood.  
  
To the scribbling of Granger's quill, I drifted of to a comfortable, not- quite-there state, and stared at the desk. I would have to repeat all the focusing exercises, or I'd have a headache and random breakdowns for the rest of my life. Maybe, when detention was over, I could ask Lucas to help me. I hadn't talked to him since his shocking confession to me, so it might be a good time to do so. He seemed interested in my wandless magic anyway, so I figured it wouldn't bother him. Gradually, I became aware that the scribbling of Granger's quill had ceased, and I turned my head to look at her. She was staring at me silently.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You're not doing the assignment." She said accusingly.  
  
"And how is this your problem?" I raised my eyebrow. "All I'm likely to get from it is a scolding and some homework. Should go well with the detention you've gotten me, don't you think?"  
  
"I got you detention?" Ouch, that screech was ear-splitting. Note to self, never get Granger angry again. "You're the one who insulted me!"  
  
Beneath my determination not to get annoyed with her again, I could feel the anger rising. Just before I was ready to snap, I put my hands up and glared at her, which forced her into silence. A split-second before I spoke, I noticed she was still wearing the Slytherin Cross, which would have made me smile, had the situation been another. It proved that even if she was mad at me, she'd taken the Cross as a serious gift.  
  
"I've already thrown up once today because of you, I'm not doing it again." I said, and snapped my fingers to silence her when she tried to speak again, "And if you hadn't slapped me, Vector wouldn't have thought we were fighting, and we wouldn't be here. So don't accuse me of anything when you're just as guilty."  
  
That seemed to stun her, before she glared at me and turned back to her parchment, writing silently. An icy silence settled in the room, and I returned to staring at my nails and focusing my less than organized magic. It wasn't until half an hour or so later that I realised I'd told her about my vomiting session. I didn't look at her, because that would mean speaking to her, but I wondered to myself how she'd taken that piece of news. Hopefully, she hadn't noticed, but with my luck and it being Granger, she had, and then she could blackmail me if she wanted to. Not that she would; she was a Gryffindor, but if that Slytherin Cross influenced her, she might.  
  
And that wasn't a comforting thought.  
  
'  
  
Vector returned to find us still as silent as she left us. After a lecture I didn't pay the slightest attention to, she let us off, and I walked away as quick as I could. Lucas' office wasn't far from the Arithmancy classroom, which was a setback, because I needed to think. After my snappish reply, Granger had been quiet. Too quiet almost, and when we left, she'd given me this odd sort of look that I wasn't sure I liked. But, since she took off for her Common Room immediately, I had no chance of spending time contemplating the expression on her face. One day, when things slowed down a bit, maybe I could sit down and try to figure out what she was up to. But not now.  
  
Lucas's door was open, and light spilled out in the hallway. It was no use knocking, since he'd probably know it was me anyway. In the empty corridor, my footfalls echoed loudly to my ears, and no doubt he had already heard me. I hadn't gotten further than putting a hand on the door-handle when he spoke.  
  
"Come on in, Zabini. How was detention?"  
  
"As could be expected." I shrugged and let myself in and sat down in a chair. "No screaming fits, no end of the world, no bloody battles. Quite silent, as detentions go."  
  
"Tell me, why did you even have detention?" Lucas leaned back from the book he had been studying, and I noticed he was wearing glasses. Thin, silver- rimmed glasses, which looked out of place on him.  
  
"Long story there." I sighed and rolled my eyes, "As all long stories, it starts with magic, and lately, Granger. I managed my first bit of wandless transfiguration today. I made a medal of some bent needles, which was incidentally the reason why I got detention."  
  
"Transfiguration? That is rather advanced, Zabini." He looked immensely worried for some reason. "Are you sure you aren't testing your control too much?"  
  
"Well, yes, I did test it too much, because afterwards, I had a fight with Granger, and I threw up a bit and some thing started flying. Is there any way for me to just shut down these powers, to stop having breakdowns?" I might have sounded careless, but my situation was nothing short of frightening, and not only was I hazard to myself, but to others as well.  
  
"There is only one way to shut down the magic would make you a Squib, and you don't want that, I might guess." Lucas looked troubled. "These are serious things we're dealing with, Zabini. If you lose any semblance of control over it, it will run wild and may become a force strong enough to pose a serious threat not only to yourself and your immediate surroundings, but also to the whole school, maybe even Hogsmeade. Imagine the strife you would cause. You have seen but a fraction of the power you can unleash if your barriers break."  
  
"I could break the walls of Hogwarts?" I must have sounded ridiculous, because I could hear my voice squeak like a mouse. "But, but that's impossible!"  
  
"No, it's not. I've done my homework." Lucas waved towards the heaps of books on his desk dismissively. "Since I started suspecting you were capable of wandless magic, I've searched the library with every spare moment I had, I've exhausted every resource I have on the area, and what I've come up with isn't something that pleases me. It appears I've forgotten more about it than I should have allowed myself to. Few wizards and witches over the years have been capable of wandless magic. A few of them have it latently, a passive and weak form. They can sometimes do things without pronouncing the spell exactly right. But a fraction of them are powerful, extremely powerful in their wandless magic. The signs which separate one from the other are clear, and you have shown several of them."  
  
"What are they?" I insisted.  
  
"The mood swings, the addiction to something, in you case coffee, the wide discrepancy in eye or hair colour. Your eyes are a clear example of that." I blinked as Lucas waved towards my eyes. His eye-colour was of course because of his practise of Dark Arts. "But that's hardly the matter. What does matter though, is what will happen if you cannot chain down your magic. There are records here," He picked up a parchment, "Of Merlin himself, who had great capacity for wandless magic. He once almost levelled a mountain because he lost control. A witch from Mongolia created quite a hassle once, while having a breakdown; the crater in the desert is still there, though made unplottable. And still, the wizard at the top of the list, mentioned most times in the books I've read, is worse. Far worse."  
  
The pale and bleak expression on his face told me I'd better listen up. No matter how I tried though, I couldn't imagine how anything I could do with my magic could be worse than levelling mountains and blowing gigantic craters in the Mongolian desert. My imagination blocked out the images after that. Hogwarts as a smoking ruin was a bit too much to stomach just yet.  
  
"His name was San Urloki. It means The Bloodstained in a language which is now dead. No one now knows his true name, he earned the name he's known by after the event which lead to his death. Because no one could help him control his raging magic, it slowly drive him to the edge of sanity. Somehow, he managed to cling to that thin thread that held him standing on the razors edge. From the records of him, I believe that what kept him there was his strong bonds to his twin sister. However, because he was so strong, other wizards believed him dangerous and thought he would attempt to seek to claim power that did not rightly belong to him. To prevent this, they tried to kill him and his family."  
  
"Why kill his family?" I ventured, not at all liking the sound of the guy's name. "If they killed him, he'd be out of the world and they'd be rid of him."  
  
"You must understand this was long ago, and there was such a thing as blood debts. If they let the family live, they had to pay for that by killing someone in their own family. If they killed the whole family, no one could demand a blood debt. But, I am digressing. They killed the whole family, with the help of San's younger brother. His name has been lost to historians, but he's not important. San had been away, but when he returned, and discovered the bodies of his family, something snapped inside him. He chased down his brother, knowing somehow he was a part of it, and slew him. For that, San was later called Kinslayer." As Lucas spoke, I wished I could just close my ears and stop listening. The tale was spiralling ever deeper into depression and black death. "Over the killers of his beloved family, he swore and oath, an oath not to rest until they all lay dead before him. With his twin sister's death, his last bond to humanity and sanity had been broken, and his magic went steadily more and more out of control. After a year, he found his family's murderers."  
  
"And what did he do then?" By now, I was completely caught up in the story, and didn't care that it directly related to me and really should be frightening.  
  
"The history books refer to it as Final Strike. They say it lit up the sky like sunrise." The smile on his face was both frightening and somehow sad, which for me to notice had to be a lot. I'm rather immune to other people's sorrows. "It's the most powerful thing done my magic to date."  
  
"How powerful?"  
  
"Ever wonder how Atlantis sank?"  
  
The frank reply had me stumped for a moment, mouth hanging open, words on the way out but never getting there. When I finally spoke, it wasn't the words I'd intended that came out.  
  
"But Atlantis sank ten thousand years ago; there's barely any records left of it, and certainly no names!" I protested wildly, not wanting to believe wandless magic could do something like that.  
  
"He didn't sink Atlantis, but the force of the Final Strike was powerful enough to bring down the island on which he and his family's murderers were standing. The nameless island disappeared beneath the waves, and neither San nor the killers were ever seen again by mortal man." Lucas's face suddenly turned serious. "He was powerful enough to take an island beneath the ocean with him. He does remind me of you, sometimes."  
  
"What was is obsession?" The seriousness of Lucas's story had frightened me more than I'd ever admit to anyone, but I needed to know what this blood- chilling man had in common with me, of all people.  
  
"Numbers, and riddles." Lucas shrugged. "He would spend days devising riddles for his sister, and was absolutely fascinated by numbers. Those numbers, the obsession with riddles and the patterns of mathematics became his doom, in the end. His predictability allowed the killers to know where he was, where his family was. However, the day they were springing the attack, something disturbed his routines, and he was late. That one breaking of patterns threw him off that razor's edge."  
  
Silence descended for a while, as I watched the pictures Lucas had woven unfold before me. Through hundreds of years lost to time, worn by lies and historians who could not tell fact from fiction, the story of San Urloki still rang too clear. Too much of his story related to mine for me to be comfortable. The dependence on family members, the death of them, the absolute rage when he was deprived of something he craved. I heard Lucas move behind his desk, but I didn't look up. My mind was racing somewhere along the edge of a razor.  
  
"What are you doing, Zabini?"  
  
"Looking down." I replied, even though I was staring at the ceiling.  
  
"Your brain must have been damaged during your last breakdown. Downwards would be the floor." Lucas pointed out logically.  
  
"Logic has no place in my world, and since you have to crush my illusions, I'd better go now. Curfew was up an hour ago." I got up from my chair and walked to the door. "Oh, and one more thing." I turned halfway out the door. "I won't walk a razor's edge, Professor, I'll fucking dance on it."  
  
When I shut the door, I thought I could hear him chuckle.  
  
'  
  
The next day dawned all too bright for my tastes. The only place to take refuge was under the covers, but Draco ruined that but rudely interrupting my last minute sleep, jumping in my bed with his elbow first. It hit my ribs entirely too hard, and after ending up in a headlock he did apologize. Might have been the threat of throwing him out the window that did it. For some reason, I was bone tired, even after consummating three cups of coffee. The first lesson was Charms, which unfortunately meant that I once again had to be in the same room as a bunch of Gryffindors, which invariably included Granger.  
  
Annoying, that is. Wherever there's Gryffindors, there's Granger, and wherever there's class, there's Gryffindors. Stupid, utterly horrible rule, but that's the way it is. Millicent all but dragged me to class, while I was complaining about my bruised ribs. Draco would pay later when I'd woken up properly. Everything seemed slow and boring, but it was shaping up to be a rather normal day, after all. Charms class went without mishap, and Transfiguration was a breeze. We were doing the exact same thing I'd done with the Slytherin Cross. A few times, I had difficulties remembering how to use my wand to do transfigurations. One spell without a wand seemed to form a habit, a habit harder to break than wand-ship. Making up new words when I ran out of usable vocabulary seemed to be a habit too. Wand-ship. What would be next? A word for the sound of falling snow? Somehow, I managed to conceal my few slips from McGonagall's hawks-eyes. Out of the corner of my eye, though, I could see someone watching me, and I was pretty much convinced it was Granger.  
  
That girl just got more and more scary for every day that went by. The detention hadn't exactly helped things up; it only got me more annoyed with her. But now, after Lucas's story about the Urloki man, it seemed far off. It seemed as if it was a week ago, instead of six hours. My memory was getting hazy around the edges, at least memories from the past few days. All that stood out was the Slytherin Cross and Lucas's story.  
  
It felt as if I was running too fast, heading for a rather nasty fall. Everything had happened so fast the past months that my mind hadn't had time to catch up. I really needed to slow down, but I never had time to do that. As soon as I had come to term with one thing, the world threw something else at me, so I was constantly trying to wind down and sleep my way to less stress. Unfortunately, it wasn't working. Maybe the only way to handle these things was to keep up the breakneck pace. If I slowed down, things would start coming down around my ears.  
  
Lunch was a quiet affair. I didn't register too much, being sleep deprived and too caught up in other things to bother concentrating on anything else than chewing my food before swallowing. It would have continued that way, if Agnes hadn't started talking next to me, apparently to me, in a very odd voice. It sounded as if she was shocked and surprised, something which I wasn't used to in Agnes Lestrange, one of the most balanced and calm people in the world.  
  
"Has anyone been watching the Gryffindors today?" She asked quietly.  
  
"Nope. Granger's been watching me though," I answered while working my way through a ham and cheese pie. "Can't say they've done too much to earn any attention either."  
  
"Granger has." Agnes nodded towards the bushy haired object of our conversation. "Haven't you seen the brooch she's wearing?"  
  
"Brooch? Since when does Granger wear jewellery?" Millicent turned her head discreetly to watch the Gryffindor in question. "She's a no-nonsense girl, unlike Brown and the Gryffindor Patil."  
  
"Well, what surprises me more than the fact that she's wearing it is what the brooch looks like." Agnes explained. "It's at least one snake, might be two. Isn't there and unwritten rule that no one but the member of a House is allowed to wear the House emblem? And besides, Gryffindors go out of their way not to be associated with snakes. She's wearing it as if she's done it since she was born. Has someone manipulated Granger's brain?"  
  
"She's wearing the snakes?" I looked up sharply at Granger.  
  
Agnes had been correct in her observations; Granger was sitting there in the middle of everything gold and red, wearing the Slytherin Cross I'd made. None of the Gryffindors, except Thomas and the little Weasley seemed to have even noticed she was wearing it, and everyone but those two ignored Granger. Potter looked like he wanted to be somewhere else and didn't even glance at Granger, and Weasley looked largely embarrassed at the whole thing. They still hadn't gotten over their quarrel, it seemed. Good for them. Quarrels among enemies was nothing but beneficial for us, and Slytherin needed every advantage we could get.  
  
"You knew about those?" Agnes questioned.  
  
"Of course. I made them." I sputtered, not thinking about what I had said before it was spoken.  
  
"You gave Granger jewellery? You fancy her?" Millicent snorted.  
  
"No!" I spat, "I wanted to see if she'd actually wear it, and she did. I pointed that out, and ended up in detention because of her reaction. She shouldn't be wearing it now; she's supposed to be hating it. Why do all my plans end up in pieces?"  
  
"Because they aren't plans, they're wild ideas." Agnes shrugged. "As your plans go, this one sound fascinating, and good even, but you've forgotten one important factor."  
  
"And what's that?" I grumbled.  
  
"Granger's a girl."  
  
Agnes smiled mysteriously at me, and left the table. I sat there for a while, staring at my pie, puzzling over girls and their strange ways, before giving in and eating again. Girls were too much trouble to be worrying about at this time of day.  
  
'  
  
Ending Notes; And Blaise's left alone with his thoughts once again. I do that too much to him, I fear. 


	22. A House in Wales

The Wednesday officially became rotten when I realised we still had three weeks to go before Christmas break. Three whole weeks, that made twenty-one days, five hundred and four hours and god knew it was too many minutes. Three whole weeks left with the Gryffindors before I might have a chance to go home and see my little sister, and have the snowball war I'd promised her. The way things looked right now, Lucas wouldn't let me out of his sight, and my sister would never get her snowball war. If I could get out of the castle long enough to see them I'd be lucky.  
  
Our Defence lessons had gone completely round the bend. Due to my wandless magic, I'd been excused from participating, so I at with a book in the corner while the others learned new spells to defend themselves against garden gnomes. I could see Millicent and Granger grow more and more impatient with Lucas as the days went by. It was obvious he'd been told by the Headmaster to tone down his teaching after the duel-class. Maybe teaching us to defend ourselves against garden gnomes was just a way to make our promised exams the more unprepared. Keeping us busy until he could get permission to let us work on our projects again.  
  
Tacked up on my wall, found somewhere by a sleep deprived Theo, was an old calendar, with pictures of dragons, on which I crossed out the days to Christmas break. The red crosses slowly outnumbered the uncrossed days, but all too slowly for my tastes. The days went by, and Agnes nearly drove me up the walls by not being able to look at me without grinning evilly. Ever since I'd told them I'd given Granger the Slytherin Cross, Agnes and Millicent had spent all together too much time whispering to each other in the corners. They scared me sometimes.  
  
The weekend was more than welcome, because all professors were heaping us with homework due to the upcoming break. I stayed up from Saturday morning to Sunday evening before I finally went to sleep, working on Transfiguration essays and Arithmancy homework. Only a constant supply of coffee kept me going the whole way.  
  
After the nightmare weekend, Lucas called me into his office. The poor Hufflepuff he sent running after me, a second year, was almost in tears when he found me, once more proving the utter scariness of Vincent Lucas. I ended my traditional aimless-Monday wandering and climbed the stairs to Lucas's office whistling to myself.  
  
"What did you want with me?" I asked, sticking my head through the door, "I'm rather hungry and would like to go eat now, so could you make it quick?"  
  
"Sit down, Zabini. You're not getting out of this one." Lucas ordered me.  
  
"Fine, fine. I'll hold you responsible if I pass out though. Imagine the wrath of Pomfrey." I shrugged and half-sat, half-fell into the chair.  
  
"I'll handle it. Besides, you appear to have run out of medication, so we might as well get you some more." Lucas commented off-handedly. "What I wished to speak to you about was the upcoming Christmas break."  
  
"Ah, here it comes, the reason I won't be allowed home." I sighed grumpily.  
  
"You will be allowed home, but not for the whole holiday." Lucas gave what for him was a smile, but for others was a nervous twitch. "Your family will have to be informed of your recent developments in magic, of course. If you came home and told them about it in the manner I'm sure you would do, they wouldn't believe you. Therefore, I am going with you, as ordered by the Headmaster. He believes it's because of your so called horrible behaviour, and I feel no rush to enlighten him. You will be allowed two days home, namely Christmas Eve and the day after, before going back here."  
  
"Whoo, I get to have a baby-sitter on my Christmas holidays." I grumbled, incredibly bored and annoyed. "Hopefully you're up for snowball wars, because that's what I'll be doing."  
  
"That was all, Zabini. You can leave now." Lucas told me, raising an eyebrow at the mention of snowball wars.  
  
Dinner somehow tasted like nothing, knowing that not even my Christmas break would be normal. Not even in my own house would I be allowed to forget about the world outside, not even in my room could I pretend to be sane, if only for a moment. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into myself, put my hands over my ears and just shut the world out, forget about everything and rest until my nerves stopped tearing apart as I moved. Even Cain, who had kept out of everyone's way the past two weeks noticed something was wrong with me.  
  
"Blaise, are you alright?" He asked quietly as dinner was ending.  
  
"Nope. Will be soon, hopefully." I shrugged it off. "Professor Lucas has to come home to me and talk to my mother about my violent behaviour. The fights with Weasley, you know."  
  
"Oh. Professor Lucas is scary." Cain nodded to himself. "Where do you live?"  
  
"Now? Well, I think it's France, up in the mountains. High enough to get snow in the winters." I smiled at the thought of snowball wars with my sister. "Don't know for sure though. Mother could have gone to Italy too. Or closer to Paris."  
  
"You don't know where you live?" Cain's eyes were the size of dinner plates.  
  
"Well, My family is incredibly old, and has more inheritance than should be legal." I smiled and ruffled his hair. "My mother's father comes from Italy, and her mother's from France, and when she got married to my father, grandfather and grandmother both gave them mansions, or castles, whatever you want to call them, as wedding presents. One in Italy, and one close to Paris. My father's part British and part French, and had a German adoptive uncle, so we own places in Britain, the mountain castle in France and a mansion in Germany too. Sometimes it's hard to keep track of them all."  
  
"Wow." Cain breathed, "A castle in France? All we have is a big house in Wales."  
  
"Is it a nice house?" I wondered.  
  
"Yeah; we have the best climbing tree outside my window!" Cain grinned widely. "I love it!"  
  
"Then it's worth more than all the castle's in France." I told him.  
  
And it was. We hardly used our properties, and when we did, they were empty and too large and cold. I'd much rather have a house in Wales with a climbing-tree outside my window. Would have been nicer than growing up in a huge mansion and never seeing my father except for when his work allowed him to come home before I fell asleep. If he came home at all. My appetite, which had been almost non-existent to begin with, disappeared completely at the thought of my father.  
  
"Not hungry Blaise?" Draco asked, sitting down next to me.  
  
"Not particularly. What're you doing over Christmas?" I changed topics.  
  
"Hopefully getting too many presents and being even more filthy rich than normal," Draco grinned, "You?"  
  
"A snowball war with my sister and trying to keep out of my mother's way is all I've got planned," I wrinkled my nose, "She's going to want to cuddle me and worry over me and be a good mother. She'll fail utterly, but you can't blame her for trying."  
  
"I'll be trying to convince my mother I don't have to be married before I'm seventeen, and unwrapping presents." Millicent said, with a sigh. "Hopefully Father will be able to rein her in."  
  
"Aside from listening to my mother's whining about Cassius Warrington and his cowardly habits, nothing." Pansy shrugged. "My Dad might take me out skating, we do it every year."  
  
"I'll spend Christmas playing chess with my cat." Agnes said. "If my grandmother deems me safe enough to allow down in furnished rooms."  
  
"Aren't we a cheerful bunch," Theo commented. "The only one who seems remotely happy about Christmas is Draco. I won't be going home, so my holidays will be spent in the company of an all too Gryffindor Headmaster. We're pathetic."  
  
"Yeah, but we're classy pathetic." I said, gesturing with my glass of pumpkin juice. "Gryffindors are trashy pathetic. We do it with style."  
  
"Slytherin pride," Theo said, raising his glass as well.  
  
"Slytherin honour," Agnes said, raising hers.  
  
"Slytherin solidarity," Gaspar broke in, hailing with an empty glass.  
  
"Slytherin vengeance." I grinned evilly. "It's time we show them how to go down in style. Slytherin style."  
  
"The Christmas spirit practically shimmers in the air around us, no?" Millicent chuckled.  
  
"'Tis the season to be depressed." I grinned back.  
  
The round of laughter that comment provoked had the rest of the Great Hall staring at us in confusion. Granger especially, seemed suspicious of us. Couldn't blame them really; laughing Slytherins usually led to trouble for everyone.  
  
'  
  
The last test was written, the last assignment turned in. All I did now was wait for the holidays. Our little outbreak of laughter in the Great Hall had everyone watching us as if we were crazy, or planning something sinister, and Granger had been glaring at me more than usual. We'd have daily glaring games, which would invariably end with me having to duck a blow from her after saying something about the Slytherin Cross. I still hadn't gotten an explanation to why she was still wearing it. Agnes just kept smiling and saying Granger was a girl and that I should be satisfied with that when I asked her.  
  
Our little group got more and more isolated as time went by. All older students, except Gaspar, looked at us as if we were crazy, or for the more Voldemort-inclined students, despise. But it was a comfortable, non-hostile despise. Open fighting within the House wasn't the Slytherin way, and as of late, neither was backstabbing in the dark either. Moon's disappearance had caused both a rift and a peace among our ranks. It divided us, but made us realise that fighting wouldn't lead to anything but losses for both sides. When the war came for real, the pretences would fall, and we'd fight people we'd known since infancy, but not now.  
  
The first real snowfall of the year came the morning everyone was going back to their families. Heavy snowflakes fell with the special sound snowfall makes, coating Hogwarts in white cotton candy, or so it seemed. Hagrid started dragging snowy trees down the halls, singing Christmas carols with his ringing bass voice, like usual, but this year his voice kept breaking when he sang ´God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs´. Seeing the large man cry and mumble to himself was nothing short of unnerving.  
  
I saw Millicent, Gaspar, Pansy, Draco and Agnes off at the train station together with Theo, waving like crazy. Cain hung out the compartment- window, waving back and smiling so hard it looked like his face would split. The Christmas spirit we'd all claimed to lack had taken over us against better judgement, and everything seemed better somehow. Not even the prospect of only two days at home over Christmas could get me down. Theo and I raced back to the castle, laughing the whole way. There was something about Christmas at Hogwarts that made me feel seven years old again.  
  
"I thought you said you were going home over Christmas," Theo said breathlessly when we finally slowed down in the Entrance Hall. "You said you'd be having a snowball war with your sister, didn't you?"  
  
"I am going home, but only for two days." I grimaced. "Lucas and the Headmaster thinks my behaviour over the past few weeks has been too violent to let me go home. An extended detention, almost."  
  
"Though luck." Theo said sympathetically. "Well, I've got to go; I still have Agnes' present to make. It has to be special, so I'll put a lot of time on it."  
  
"You do that." I grinned, both at his eagerness to make a present, and at his obvious worship of Agnes.  
  
Theo was Slytherin's resident artist. Maybe it was his many sleepless nights that had made him start doodling on paper to make the hours pass, but whatever the reason he'd gotten very good over the years. We'd all wound up in his gallery of drawings and paintings sometime, and his idea of a good birthday or Christmas present was a drawing. I could only imagine what he'd give to Agnes. I'd gotten some of his paintings of dragons and Thestrals earlier years, and I'd probably get the same thins year.  
  
With nothing to do, I stood in the Entrance Hall for a moment, before deciding to take a walk around the grounds before dinner. In only a few short hours, the snow had covered the grass with a layer of snow several inches thick, and my boots made crunching sounds as I walked. The wind bit my face and I could feel my cheeks slowly turning redder by the minute. After about ten minutes, I must have looked like I was painted in the Gryffindor colours. I stopped by the lake, and looked out over the frozen surface. A fleeting thought of how the Squid managed under the ice hit me before I shook it off.  
  
Snow started to settle on my head and shoulders as I stood still, trying to see something through the mist my breath was making. Something moved closer to the castle, and I turned my head to see a black-robed form with suspiciously red and gold markings move across the snow-covered grounds. The bushy brown hair revealed it to be Granger. Funny. I hadn't known she was staying. I'd seen Weasley and Potter both leave, and then it was just logical for her to leave too. She seemed to be alive and kicking and still at Hogwarts, and moving about on the grounds, - I squinted – building a snowman. How utterly Gryffindor.  
  
"'S'at you, Snape?" Hagrid's rumbling voice asked, "Nah, it ain't. You jus' looked like him for a moment there. 'Course it couldn't be Snape. 'E's gone and disappeared."  
  
"Hmm." I replied, not taking my eyes off Granger. She was having trouble putting the middle section of the snowman on the bottom section. A small smile twitched on my lips. It was fun to see Granger fail to accomplish something for once.  
  
"Who's that?" The gigantic man rumbled, shading his eyes with one hand and squinting at Granger. "'Ere, that's Hermione!"  
  
"Hmm." I answered again, not having the energy or the wish to make a more eloquent reply.  
  
"Yer Zabini, ain't yer?"  
  
I nodded.  
  
"Heard about yer dad. 'M sorry." A giant hand weighed my shoulder down. I shrugged it off.  
  
"I'll get over it." I said shortly. "If you don't mind, I have things to do - "  
  
"Starin' at Hermione is ´things to do´?" The ground keeper snorted. "You can' fool me, Zabini. You been out 'ere for twenty minutes staring at 'er."  
  
He left me blinking as he walked away. I'd thought I'd been watching Granger for about five minutes, not twenty. And why wasn't I fooling Hagrid? And fooling him about what? Grumbling to myself about odd ground keepers and snowmen, I walked back to the castle. The snow stuck to the soles of my boots, and I got gradually taller as I walked. I stopped halfway and leaned against a tree, cleaning the snow off to a tune of muttered curses.  
  
I didn't see it coming, because I was bent over my boots. I didn't expect the sudden chill in my face or the impact of freezing snow on my chest. I certainly did not expect looking up and finding Granger stuffing all her fingers in her mouth, trying not to giggle. Snow dripped slowly down the side of my face and the front of my robes. An unreasonable wish to dunk her in the lake came over me, but I checked it. Dumbledore wouldn't look kindly on me killing one of the smartest witches at Hogwarts, so I clenched my fists and ground my teeth to keep from lashing out at her. Wiping away the snow from my face slowly, I stared at her expressionlessly, until she stopped giggling.  
  
"That," I said, "Was not something one has come to expect from the smartest witch to ever walk Hogwarts' grounds. From a Gryffindor, however, it's nothing less than can be expected. Someday, when I'm feeling less Christmas- cheery than I am now, I will take my revenge for that. But not now."  
  
"You deserved it." Granger flipped back.  
  
"For what? Leaning on the poor tree?" I snorted. "It wasn't as if it was complaining, was it?"  
  
"For being a prat." She snapped, ignoring my rather silly retort. "And for constantly picking fights with me. Consider it payback. Something you Slytherins would understand wonderfully."  
  
"That was rather different of you, Granger," I replied, "Does your other personality only come out to play when Potter and Weasley aren't around?"  
  
"Split personalities are reserved for the resident nutcases, like you, Zabini." She snorted derisively before turning back to her snowman.  
  
There was nothing for me to say, so after a few moments of sputtering, I turned on my heels and stormed back to the castle. One point to Granger today, but I'd win it back tomorrow. Daily arguments had turned into an addictive habit, and this one was just the last in a long on-going debate of my sanity and her neat-freakiness. It was a miracle that she hadn't slapped me again, and a miracle that Potter and Weasley hadn't tried to rip my spine out through my nose and beat me to death with it.  
  
If I survived to Christmas Eve, I'd be lucky.  
  
'  
  
Ending Notes; shorter chapter this time, but hopefully, the next one will be longer and include more plot-points than this one. 


	23. Brokendown Snowmen

The snowfall didn't let up in the least over the break, and when Lucas and I boarded the train to London, the snow was a good feet thick on the ground. The days were so short that we only had a few hours of daylight before darkness fell again, and since Lucas wanted to make use of those hours, we'd hastened to the train. Before we left, Theo had given me a wrapped parcel, which he told me not to open until Christmas. It was my present from him, he'd said, and I'd grimaced for a moment, realising I didn't have anything to give him in return.  
  
"That's alright," He said, "You'll just owe me a huge favour instead."  
  
"How huge?" I questioned.  
  
"Oh, I don't know. Suitably huge to replace the Christmas present that never was," He grinned, before turning back to his painting for Agnes.  
  
The parcel was now resting in my trunk, which the Headmaster and Lucas had given me permission to take with me. Aside from a few changes of clothing, a few books and some presents I'd bought for Marise and my mother, that was all I had to bring. And even then, Lucas's pack was even smaller than mine; it couldn't hold more than one robe and a book or two.  
  
The train-ride was largely uneventful. Some drunk was snoring in the corner of our compartment, but otherwise we were alone. Lucas leaned back, closed his eyes and fell asleep rather quickly as well, and I curled up in my seat, almost drifting off too. I hadn't gotten very much sleep last night. I never could sleep before Christmas Eve when I was little, and I had yet to outgrow it. The Christmas Even insomnia had this year been aided by anger; Granger had annoyed me no end, and she'd won our daily argument for the second time since the holidays started. So I'd been up almost all night, practising charms without a wand till my head ached.  
  
"Could you please stop projecting your petty irritation at everyone?" Lucas snapped, opening his eyes again, "Some of us are trying to sleep."  
  
"I haven't done anything!" I snapped back.  
  
"Just think about something else, alright? You're broadcasting your feelings loud enough for people to hear you in China." He sighed. "Bloody soundboard, that's what you are."  
  
Feeling incredibly juvenile, I crossed my arms and glared at him before turning my thoughts to Marise and the snowball-war. Hopefully that was nice enough thoughts for Lucas. He fell asleep again quickly, and I drifted off as well not long after him.  
  
'  
  
Platform 9 ¾ was almost deserted as we stepped off the train. Not many people rode the Hogwart's Express except students, and since Christmas break had already started, there were no students around. No one was passing through the barrier, no one was waiting for the train. King's Cross seemed strangely empty, even though I knew that Muggle life went on as normal on the other side of the barrier.  
  
"We will be Flooing to the Ministry of Magic, and from there to France." Lucas said.  
  
"Wait, wait, wait; if we can Floo to the Ministry, then why the heck did I have to walk there every time?" I protested.  
  
"They only opened the connection a week ago, Zabini. You couldn't possibly have used it before that." Lucas rolled his eyes. "Now please hurry up; your mother is expecting us before dinner."  
  
Grumbling, I did as he said, and carried my trunk over to the newly installed fireplaces. No matter how newly installed they were, they had already been violated; some dimwit had scrawled some dim slogan across the side, stating that "Slytherin sucks!", and "Death to the Snakes!". Needless to say, I wasn't very amused. For a moment, I was tempted to add some scrawling of my own, even though it was beneath me, but then Lucas cleared his throat behind me, clearly wondering why I had stopped.  
  
"This is against my better judgement you know; it's clearly Slytherin abuse." I gestured to the scrawling, "But if I have to, I guess I will."  
  
"Just get on with it, Zabini." Lucas sighed. "We do not, despite what you might think, have all day."  
  
"Fine."  
  
I hate Flooing, because for some reason, I always end up choking on the ashes, and it was no different this time. I stumbled out into the golden hall at the Ministry coughing and swearing to myself. Accidentally, I crashed into some people, who stumbled back and swore before shoving me back. Of course, I stumbled some more and hit some other people. Not the best entry in Ministry history, but certainly the filthiest. There was ashes everywhere, and my sooty footsteps marred the floor.  
  
"Nice entry there, Zabini." Anja said, catching my elbow to prevent me from falling. "You can't just walk in, can you?"  
  
"I hate Flooing." I said miserably to no one. "I really do. Point me at whoever came up with it, and I'll break his jaw."  
  
"I like my jaw where it is, thank you." Linden, who seemed to appear out of nowhere with a cup of coffee said. "Why are you here? It's Christmas break, is it not?"  
  
"We're going France," I explained, looking around for Lucas, "But only for a few days before returning to Hogwarts. Professor Lucas comes with me to explain things to my mother. At least I'll get my snowball war with my sister. What are you all doing here? I thought you never left the Department if you could help it."  
  
"We don't, usually, because everyone looks funny at us," Basil informed me seriously. He was wearing what looked like a blue suit, but with the Basil- like additions to it; a top hat, and a waistcoat for some reason. It was an almost normal outfit for Basil, but it stood out like a rose in a field of weeds among the robed wizards. "I don't know why, but they do."  
  
"You don't say," I mumbled.  
  
"We're here because we're going home for Christmas," Anja shrugged. "I haven't seen my father in a full year, and my mother would blow a fuse if I don't come home. Christmas is way overrated."  
  
"My brother ordered me to leave the Department, he's getting worried about me." Linden explained, straightening his glasses.  
  
"My family wants me back for Christmas so they can try to, as they call it, get me sane again." Basil grinned, "Don't know why they keep trying. Well, be off now; the outgoing Floo to France is free."  
  
"Happy Christmas," I said, before heading off to the other side of the hall.  
  
Lucas was already standing there, waiting for me. A tall man in grey robes with a strange emblem on his chest was giving him odd looks, which he largely ignored. No one could ignore things as disdainfully as Lucas could. Without even looking at him, Lucas had made him angry. Someday, I'd learn how to do that, but that day wasn't today. All I wanted now was to get home, hug my sister and my mother and sleep. And food. Food was currently at the top of my list.  
  
"Done now?" Lucas asked.  
  
"Yeah. Shall we?" I gestured towards the fireplace, and when Lucas nodded I went through.  
  
'  
  
I had been in my house for approximately thirty seconds when I was tackle- hugged by my little sister. She was getting slow; twenty seconds used to be the norm. Lucas stepped through the fireplace with a lot more grace than I did, and smiled momentarily at the picture of me sitting on the floor with my sister surgically attached to my ribcage. I suffered silently, while my sister babbled in both French and English about how glad she was that I was home and oh, couldn't we have our snowball war already?  
  
"Marise, slow down; not even I can hear what you're saying now." I chuckled and ruffled her hair.  
  
"Blaisie," She breathed, and I rolled my eyes. Great, another nickname. "Why didn't you come home with everyone else?"  
  
"Because I wasn't allowed to by the Headmaster." I explained, standing up. She still didn't let go. "But I'm home now, and as soon as I've eaten, said hello to Mother and unpacked, I'll have that snowball war with you."  
  
"Yay!" She hugged me even tighter. Then she noticed Lucas, and the smile disappeared and she looked suddenly scared. Lucas gave her a small smile, to try and soften the scariness, but apparently didn't succeed, since Marise hid her face in my shoulder. "Blaise, he's scary."  
  
"He is, isn't he?" I chuckled again, "That's Vincent Lucas, my professor. He's not as bad as he looks. Professor, this is my sister, a wandering hazard to everything with legs and the ability to be hugged."  
  
"Hello." Lucas stretched out his hand, and Marise stared at it for a moment before taking it.  
  
"Don't be sad." Marise said abruptly. Lucas raised an eyebrow, "It wasn't your fault. Blaise, Mama is in the dining room. Come!"  
  
Jumping down and dragging me towards the dining room, Marise was her usual bubbly self again, just as abruptly as she'd been sad and scared. My sister was confusing sometimes, and her cryptic words to Lucas made me puzzle over if she was really alright. Sure, Lucas was scary, and not the happiest person on Earth, but for my sister to tell him not to be sad, something had to be going on. I'd have to ask Marise about it later.  
  
The snow was falling heavily outside as we half walked, half ran to the dining room. I nearly crashed into the dining table before I managed to stop, laughing with my sister. My mother was standing just a few feet away, and gasped, shocked at our daring when we entered. I stopped laughing, though it was hard keeping a straight face at her shocked expression.  
  
"Hello, Mother," I said, trying to keep my grinning to a minimum.  
  
"Welcome home, dear," She gave me a quick hug, "Now, where is your teacher? I received a letter from the Headmaster stating one of your professors would come with you."  
  
"I'm right here." Lucas said, "You look like someone hit you in the back of your head with a board, Philomena."  
  
"Vincent!" She gasped, "I thought you were dead!"  
  
"Sorry to disappoint, but it takes more than a war to kill me," Lucas shrugged. "Dumbledore found me in a tavern in Siberia, and told me I was his new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher. I was in no position to refuse, so I've been teaching your son how to best not kill himself since September 1st."  
  
They stared at each other. My mother attempted a smile, but it looked as if she was in pain. Lucas did not look the least happy to see her, even though they'd obviously met before.  
  
"I'll...." I cleared my throat, "I'll just leave you two to catch up then, shall I?"  
  
Turning, I dragged Marise from the room, trusting that someone would explain the situation to me when they saw fit. Of course, since my father had been at Hogwarts about the same time as Lucas was, if I'd counted the years right, my mother and Lucas might have met. The surprise and Lucas rather cool answer to my mother's exclamation gave me a hint that the acquaintance wasn't a good one. Better let the wolves battle it out without me or my sister there. Besides, I needed to unpack. Marise walked silently beside me, to all appearances happy with the world and satisfied with all that was going on. She's a little odd, but since she seemed to be handling things well, I decided not to bother with worrying.  
  
"How have you been?" I asked her.  
  
"It's been lonely. Father's gone." She said sadly. "Mama says he's not coming back. Why isn't he coming back, Blaise? Doesn't he like us any more?"  
  
Once again I was stuck explaining things to my poor little sister. For some unexplained reason, my sister's mind had stopped somewhere around a six year-olds stage. She wasn't academically stupid, she just acted like a six year-old. Crouching down so that I was at her level, I studied her for a moment. This was going to be hard. I cursed my mother for not explaining things to Marise.  
  
"Father's not coming back, because he can't." I said softly. "Remember when you had that bad dream, and our house burned?"  
  
"Yeah." She mumbled.  
  
"Father didn't, he didn't," I choked. Damn this was difficult to talk about; I hadn't gotten over it yet, so how should I be able to tell my sister? "He didn't get out. He's gone. Like Balthazar, your kitten. Father's dead."  
  
I couldn't help it; tears rolled down my cheeks as Marise flung her arms around my neck and held on for dear life. I could hear her sobbing in my ear, wetting my shirt with her tears and mumbling something over and over. There was nothing to do but keep holding her and waiting for her to stop crying. It seemed an eternity before her sobs turned to hiccups which silenced. She still didn't let go of my neck, so I sat down with my back against the wall silently.  
  
"Shh, Marise. It'll be alright." I whispered, watching my hopes of a calm and nice Christmas go down in flames. "Don't cry. I'll make everything alright, I promise."  
  
"Promise?" She sniffled.  
  
"I can't bring Father back, but I promise." I said solemnly. She hugged me once more.  
  
"Mama doesn't talk to anyone any more." She confessed. "It gets lonely. I tried building a snowman yesterday, but it fell apart."  
  
The switch of subjects was confusing, but I followed sort of. If nothing else, it was to protect herself, to get away from the subject of my father and the lonely house she lived in. The only speck of light where she was concerned was that she'd go to Hogwarts in less than a year, and I could watch over her there. The sooner she got away from our demented mother, the better. When Marise finally let go of my neck, I stood up and taking her hand, I wandered off in search of food. As we passed the dining room, I could hear my mother's raised voice, though muffled by the heavy doors. I winced, and Marise squeezed my hand tightly.  
  
I crossed my fingers, hoping Lucas would win this battle.  
  
'  
  
Sandwiches and cold tea is no substitute for a good dinner, but something is better than nothing at all. I amused Marise by building a tower out of teaspoons, which stood for approximately ten seconds before falling down and making the House Elf chase us out of the kitchen. Marise had momentarily forgotten about the fight our mother was having with Lucas as well as pushed the topic of our father to the back of her mind. She was fairly skipping back through the hallways.  
  
"It's late, you better get to sleep, or Mama will be angry with you in the morning." I told her, pointing towards her room. "Run along now; I'll make sure Mama and Lucas stop fighting, alright?"  
  
"Alright. 'Night, Blaise."  
  
"Night." I hugged her before she ran down the corridor.  
  
As soon as she was gone, I steered my steps towards the dining room. Just as I came to the doors, Lucas stepped out, looking angry, tired and annoyed, but with a small smile on his face that was a tell-tale sign of victory. He spotted me and reined in the smile quickly. I raised my eyebrow.  
  
"How went the taming of the beast?" I questioned.  
  
"I survived," He rolled his eyes. Then he seemed to realise what he'd said, "That's really no way to speak of your mother."  
  
"Well, I've done what I promised; you aren't fighting any more. If anyone needs me, I'll be researching how long one can sleep in one's own bed." I said, "Night."  
  
Fortunately, my bed was closer than I thought, and I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. Normally, after my mother had had a fight, I'd be up all night wondering why the world was so messed up, but since Lucas wasn't my father, it didn't matter all that much.  
  
'  
  
Ending Notes; another not-so-long chapter, but There wasn't much else to write here, and if I tried to stretch it, it would just feel wrong. 


	24. Tis the Season to be Depressed

It was my crappiest Christmas ever. Not even when my father's aunt Clara sat for three hours talking about the wonderful world of crochety was it ever this bad. It started out innocently enough, with Marise waking me up by jumping on my bed and almost breaking my ribs, shouting "It's Christmas, it's Christmas!" at the top of her lungs. I got up and got dressed slowly, because I hadn't slept well and was still tired, before heading down to the dining room to eat breakfast. Lucas was sitting there with the morning paper and some toast and coffee, and he nodded as we entered. I nodded back, and Marise chirped another "It's Christmas!" before sitting down.  
  
My mother was sitting at the other end of the table, far away from us, with a half-empty bottle in her hand. The label read Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. It was all downhill from there.  
  
Usually, we'd have our family over at Christmas, all forgotten aunts and uncles, Great Uncle Drathil, second cousins twice removed, everyone who had any blood-ties to the family, but this year, it was only us. Maybe they wanted to leave us alone to deal with Father's death, maybe they didn't want to disturb, not that that had ever bothered Great Uncle Drathil before. One of my fondest memories was of him coming to knock on our door and just barge in and live with us for a week before leaving, with no explanations at all. For whatever reason, we were alone but for Lucas. He seemed to largely ignore us, sipping his coffee and reading about the latest disasters in the world. He was reading the Daily Prophet, which had lately been writing about imaginary plots and conspiracies, and had been profusely apologising to Potter at repeated occasions.  
  
Breakfast was a gloomy affair; even my sister noticed, and she is a master at ignoring depression. By lunch, Mother was pissed off her rocker, and Lucas was still reading. He'd changed to some obscure Muggle book, apparently entitled Theories on Psychological Disturbances. It wasn't magical, that I could tell from the title; had it been, it would have been named something like Magical Madness; How to Tell if You're Off Your Rocker! Or something equally stupid.  
  
Marise and I finally had our snowball war in the snowdrifts outside our house. She's so short she almost disappeared underneath the snow, but somehow managed to nail me straight in the eye with a snowball. The little pixie even won in the end, and I chased her back to the house laughing and covered in snow.  
  
Turns out losing that snowball war was the best thing that happened all Christmas.  
  
Things started to sour when Lucas announced he had done what he came for and that he needed to return to Hogwarts on the Headmaster's orders. Marise, who had when Lucas arrived seemed to think he was the devil in disguise (not that good of a disguise, come to think of it), now hugged him and sniffled pathetically, until I took over and had her clinging to me instead. So we were left alone to fend against our all other than sane mother.  
  
The drinking binge continued. Marise and I stalked down the corridors as quietly as possible, whispered to each other and did as quiet things as possible. For example, we spent three hours playing chess, both to pass the time and keep out of Mother's way. Mother was a vicious drunk, and this time was no different. Marise won twice, and I won once, which I felt was a little unfair, but since she was my sister, I let it pass. The bombshell didn't drop until dinner, when Marise and I was almost crawling up the walls, waiting to open our presents.  
  
"Blaise, I have to talk to you." My mother said, putting the cutlery and the whiskey bottle down. I swallowed. This was not going to be good.  
  
"What is it, Mother?" I asked quietly, putting my own cutlery down, and waving to Marise to inch closer to the doors if things turned rotten.  
  
"Your professor told me some interesting things." She was fighting to stay on a more or less calm level, and not quite succeeding. "He said you'd gone crazy. Is this true?"  
  
"No Mother. I'm not crazy, even though I have a little paper that says I am." I rolled my eyes, "I just don't do magic with a wand any more."  
  
"You've always been a freak, Blaise." At her outburst, I stared at her open- mouthed. "Ever since you were born you've been nothing but trouble! Your father was proud of you, gods only know why, but you've been nothing but a shame to the family since you were old enough to talk!"  
  
Despite that she was calling me a freak, I had to admire my mother's ability to speak clearly even after ingesting enough alcohol to knock out an elephant. Not one syllable was misplaced, and if it wasn't for the fact that I'd seen her walk around with different bottles of alcohol all day, I wouldn't know she was drunk.  
  
"Not once have you done anything to help the image your birth gave us! I can still remember their snide remarks about how it was typical of us to give birth to a son who was nothing more than a freak!" She was shouting now, waving the steak knife for emphasis. I attempted to back away while sitting, "But I've had enough of it now! There will be no more shame to the Zabini name because of you; I want you out! I don't want to see your freakish face here again, if I so have to disown you formally to achieve it!"  
  
"But – but Mother, where am I going to go?" I forced out, as the true meaning of what she'd said sank into my mind. She was disowning me, truly disowning me and throwing me out of the house, on no grounds but for being born.  
  
"I don't know and I don't give a bleeding damn any more!" She screamed, "Get your things and get out! At least I have one child that isn't a disappointment."  
  
Nothing but months of training and a last-minute wish to prove that I wasn't a complete failure kept me from snapping and letting cutlery fly right there and then. Standing up slowly, I nodded one last time at my mother, and walked out of the dining room. Marise had fled the field as soon as my mother called me a freak, and was nowhere to be seen. I ground my teeth as I climbed the stairs to my room, trying to keep my temper under control and just managing.  
  
My trunk made a hideous sound as I dragged it downstairs, not bothering to pick it up as I did so. The Silver Arrow, dust with disuse, but still one of the best brooms to ever see the light of day, had in my absence been stashed in a left-over wardrobe, the door of which I broke kicking it open. It wasn't as if the house and the cost of the repairs bothered me any more. The hinges of the main door made some less than normal sounds as I kicked those doors as well. My mother watched me go with a scowl on her face and a bottle in her hand. That was the last time I ever saw my mother.  
  
Pitying Marise, I kicked off from the ground, and balancing my trunk, I flew off over the treetops.  
  
'  
  
Several hours and too many miles covered later, I touched down on solid ground again. Crossing the English Channel was nothing for the weakling Comets or Cleansweeps, and even Nimbuses would have trouble with the lack of landing space. Not so with my beloved broom, and the crossing had gone well. Unfortunately, finding a wizard-inhabitance was decidedly more difficult. At first, I'd thought about flying all the way to Hogwarts, but Hogwarts was unplottable and as such impossible to find by broom. The only way Weasley and Potter had managed it in second year was because they'd followed the train. I had no train to follow. So I'd dismissed the idea, and touched down in Seven Oaks instead, which was the closest wizard-Muggle dwelling I could find.  
  
The best I could find was a magical house, not too small, with some flat roof-planes. Flying for well over five hours, balancing a top-heavy trunk on a too thin broom was hard work, and I nearly collapsed as I sat down. Some kind of party, a loud one, was going on in the house, and I should probably go and tell people I'd landed on their property, but I was bone tired and they seemed to be having fun, so I didn't want to disturb them. So I sat there watching the stars and catching my breath for a while.  
  
"It's bleeding cold out here!" A decidedly familiar voice snapped from below, "Ugh, ice-cream brain-freeze. Who came up with the bent idea to eat ice-cream at Christmas, anyway?"  
  
"I'll go out on a limb and say it wasn't you," I said, swinging my legs over the edge of the roof and looking down. "'Lo Anja. Fancy meeting you here."  
  
The Severing Hex cut off a bit of my hair as it sizzled past my ear.  
  
"I know I am constantly in desperate need of a haircut, but wasn't that going a bit too far?" I asked, making sure my ear was still attached to my head.  
  
"Zabini, you filthy son of a one-eyed harlot, how dare you startle me like that?" Anja shouted up at me, "And what are you doing on our roof?"  
  
"Resting?" I tried. "Crossing the English Channel is hard work on a broom, you know."  
  
"Get down here you waste of perfectly good sense!" She snapped, pointing at the ground in front of her. As I climbed down on the vines covering the wall, she invented new swearwords, previously unheard of in the British language. "Now, you've got three red seconds to explain why you crossed the Channel on a broom, with your trunk, on Christmas."  
  
"Three words then, if I have three seconds; Mother, alcohol, disowned." I ticked off on my fingers. "And that's about it. How's your Christmas going?"  
  
"I have a brain-freeze due to ice-cream overdose, I have a house-full of relatives all speaking at once, and now you've decided to get kicked out of your family," Anja ticked off on her fingers as well, "So far, let's just say it's been a unique day and leave it at that. Your mother disowned you? Why?"  
  
"I'm a horrid freak and a shame to the family, apparently." I shrugged.  
  
The door of the house opened once more, and golden light spilled out over the night and snow. Anja's head snapped around and she raised her wand again, quicker than a rattlesnake struck. A tall, bearded man with blond hair and grey eyes, making him look like a Malfoy-refugee, stepped out into the yard.  
  
"Anja? Do you have company?" He asked, in English, though he sounded as if he should be speaking Russian or something to that effect.  
  
"No father, it's a figment of your imagination," Anja snorted, "Yes, I've got company. He just dumped himself on our roof. His name's Blaise Zabini, and I've had him hang around our Department a few times. Have you saved the ice-cream from Alyona?"  
  
"Yes, I have. She's examining the cookies now," Anja's father was a surprise, I must say. If he was anything like Anja, he was supposed to be smoking and waxing cynical right now, "Please, let your friend in. We've got plenty of food."  
  
"Buckle up now, Zabini," Anja patted my shoulder, "You're meeting my all other than sane family."  
  
This was not what I had in mind for my Christmas. But then again, getting disowned wasn't exactly in the plan either. I'd come too far to turn back now, and who knew what might happen if I turned my back on Anja's family. Judging from the way Anja acted, I might very well end up with a rather nasty hex, just for the fun of it. I swallowed hard, and stared in fear at the nice and warm light spilling out from from the open door.  
  
"Can I run for my life now?" I asked.  
  
"'Fraid not." Anja sighed heavily and patted my shoulder sympathetically once more.  
  
"Damn."  
  
The house was full of people. There were people everywhere, of every size and possible personality. Someone attached their person to Anja's father as soon as we were through the door. This attachable person babbled about Christmas-presents and ice-cream all at the same time, while sounding quite like a rabbit on a sugar-high. I was starting to regret even crossing the Channel, and clutched both broom and trunk till my knuckles turned white. Every pair of eyes in the room turned to look at me, and therefore also Anja, who still had a hand on my shoulder. All but a few resembled Anja to the point of embarrassment, and those who didn't were obviously either related by marriage or going to be married to Anja's relatives.  
  
Why, if this wasn't the most awkward moment of my life so far. Never liking to be the centre of attention, everyone staring at me was nothing short of panic-inducing. One could have heard a pin drop in the ensuing silence after our entrance. Anja's father made some gestures, trying to think of something to say, and failing miserably. Finally, one of Anja's relatives spoke up.  
  
"Isn't that one a wee bit too young for you, Anja?" He asked, chuckling in a forced sort of way.  
  
"Shut your gob, Vlad," Anja snapped, "You don't see me complaining when you drag home some girl ten years younger than you are. And for what it's worth, Zabini isn't my so-called date to this miserable annual party; he just happened to land on our roof and needs my help. I work with the boy."  
  
"Landed on our roof? And I'm a Malfoy." The man addressed as Vlad snorted.  
  
"But I did." I felt the need to break into what was obviously an ongoing sibling rivalry. "It was the first roof of a wizard's house I saw after crossing the Channel."  
  
Now the room broke out in a mixture of disbelieving laughter and somewhat shocked questions. The crowd of Anja-clones and Anja-resembling people all wanted to know if I had crossed the Channel, why, how and when. I winced at the overbearing hum of sound that washed over me, and nearly took a step back. Anja rolled her eyes and, putting two fingers in her mouth, cut the noise off with a sharp whistle.  
  
"Belt up you lot!" She snapped once more, "Leave the boy alone, for the sake of all things holy. He's had a rough day, so I don't want you picking on him. So you be nice to him while I'm gone. I'll be back in a while, alright?"  
  
And so I was left alone with the hyenas – er, Anja's family. By now, being born seemed like it had been a bad idea. They closed in on me, just like a pack of hyenas, and the only thing that kept me from running out of there screaming like a girl was the knowledge that if they got too bad, I could always wallop them over the head with my Silver Arrow and then run away screaming like a girl.  
  
Vlad took a sip of what looked like Firewhiskey, and inspected me critically. He seemed like the leader of the pack, as Anja's father hung back and talked to a woman who looked to be his wife. Some little blonde Anja-copy, maybe five years old, tugged at my trouser-leg and I nearly dropped my trunk on her in fright.  
  
"So you're Zabini, eh?" Vlad questioned.  
  
"Yes. I am." I answered, rather proud of my unbroken and steady voice.  
  
"Heard about the fire." He continued. "Sure it was an accident?"  
  
"I don't know," I bit out through clenched teeth. I hated when people made me think about the fire. "The memories are rather hazy, and I went to school almost immediately after it, so I had no chance of inspecting the ashes either."  
  
"School? Anja's really robbing the cradle now." Vlad snorted again, and I saw red.  
  
My fist made contact with his nose even before I knew I'd dropped my broom, and his head snapped back. The crack of his nose breaking was audible, and he stumbled back and sat down on the floor with a heavy thud, dropping his glass, which shattered as it hit the floor. He stared at me in shock, as did the others, as blood flowed from his nose like water from a fountain. I stared back, equally shocked, before looking down on my now bloody knuckles. My fingers were trembling. Without thinking, without really meaning to, I had hauled away and hit a member of Anja's family. Any minute now, the hyenas would throw themselves at me and rip me to shreds.  
  
"Isn't it funny how the ground never opens up and swallows you when you want it to?" I asked the air after a few too many seconds of heavy silence. Reaching out my hand to help Vlad up, I continued. "I knew I should have stayed in bed this morning. For what it's worth, I am terribly sorry. I'm not the most stable person I know."  
  
"You pack one hell of a punch, Zabini." He said, his voice a little muffled, "But please don't hit me again without warning me first. What earned me that in the first place?"  
  
"The worst day of my life, if you don't count the one when my house burned down, or the one when my Housemate was kidnapped by some funny people with marks on their arms," I said tiredly. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I want to get more coherent than that."  
  
"Did someone finally give you what you deserve, Vlad?" Anja asked from the doorway, "Maybe now you'll be able to keep your girlfriends longer than a week; getting hit might have knocked some sense into you. But I guess I shouldn't get my hopes up. Zabini, come along here; we need to talk to Linden."  
  
She dragged me bodily from the room, while I was still in the middle of apologising to Vlad, whom I assumed was her brother, though it was hard to tell is he was older or younger than she. They all looked like Malfoys anyway; if it wasn't for the fact that I'd met Anja's father, I'd believed that they were all the bastard offspring of Lucius Malfoy. Anja was muttering under her breath about stupid brothers and cradle-robbing, while I puzzled over why we had to talk to Linden. It wasn't as if I could get un- disowned; once a member of an old Pureblood family, such as mine, had declared another member of the family disowned, that declaration stood, even if it wasn't written down.  
  
The fire was crackling in the next room, and Linden's head was present in it. He watched us as we entered, not in the usual absent way, but sharply and directly. An unusual expression on his face; all his scatter- brainedness had gone missing, apparently. Anja dumped me in a chair and took a seat in another herself.  
  
"Linden, we have trouble with a capital T." She gestured to me.  
  
"Yes, you told me he'd dumped himself on your house." Linden nodded, "So, Mr Zabini, would you like to tell me what exactly caused this?"  
  
"I was disowned by my demented mother and thrown out of the house. I need to be at Hogwarts within twenty-four hours. Why do you need to know this anyway?" I grumbled. It was too late to be even remotely civil any more.  
  
"Because I have the authority to have you back at Hogwarts within twenty- four hours without any uncomfortable questions, that's why," Linden countered. "An advantage of working at the Department of Mysteries is that no one asks questions when you tell them to do or give you things."  
  
"Fine." I muttered. "Just get me out of here before I break someone else's nose."  
  
"Who?" Linden asked, straightening his glasses.  
  
"Vlad, the miserable excuse for an older brother," Anja snorted.  
  
"Finally." Linden grinned. "No offence Anja, but the Department for Enforcing of Magical Law has had your brother here so many times it's starting to get ridiculous. What earned him that?"  
  
"He accused Anja of cradle-robbing, me being the thing robbed," I shrugged. "Too many hours on a broom and too many days of keeping my crumbling self- control together, and that remark just made me snap."  
  
"Ah. Well. You just wait here for a moment, and I'll go and arrange some things." Linden nodded to us and disappeared.  
  
We were left staring at the flickering flames. Anja poured herself a glass of Firewhiskery, and for a split second, I wished I was old enough to be legally allowed to drink it. Normally, it wouldn't have been a problem; I'd just have sneaked a glass and pretended not to care, but I couldn't just ask Anja to give me a glass. It would be awkward if nothing else. But, to my surprise, she poured another glass, and put in on the table next to my chair without saying anything. I downed the lot without blinking.  
  
Half an hour later, the glasses were still standing empty. We'd resorted to passing the bottle back and forth. Not a word had been exchanged, and if this went on for another half hour, we'd not only need a new bottle, but we wouldn't be able to talk. Or walk. Linden better call back quick, or I'd be lying on the floor inspecting the carpet pattern soon. It wasn't my first time drunk; I was seventeen, and seventeen year old boys did a lot of stupid things, but I hadn't had the opportunity to get drunk on anything but coffee in a very long time. The alcohol went straight to my head.  
  
'  
  
Only dimly aware of things further away than a few feet, I stumbled through the fireplace, and ended up in the Department of Mysteries. Linden caught me before I smashed my head into one of the bookcases, before he turned and did Anja the same service. Although she spent a considerable amount of time clinging to his tweed jacket, which I hadn't. It's always the funny things you notice when you're dead drunk. Linden said something about establishing a temporary Floo connection to Hogwarts, and directed me to another fireplace, Anja still hanging on to his arm. He didn't seem to mind though, and stood there quite calmly.  
  
"The connection will shut down as soon as you're through," He explained, "And you'll end up in the fireplace closest to the dungeons. I made sure that it isn't one that belongs to a teacher or the caretaker. Go on now; I wouldn't want you to end up in the wrong place, and if we wait too long, the connection might change."  
  
"Right." I managed to mumble, "I'll just go now." It seemed I'd inherited the ability to pronounce things perfectly even while drunk from my mother.  
  
Stepping through the fireplace, I saw a million other fireplaces rush past, before everything slowed down and I stepped out again in a familiar dungeon, far from the Ministry. I hoisted my trunk up on my shoulder, made sure I still had my broom and my rarely used wand, and walked out of the room and into a dark corridor. Breathing in the familiar smell of Hogwarts, I smiled for the first time in seventy-two hours.  
  
It was good to be back.  
  
'  
  
Ending Notes; and thus I torture Blaise just a little bit more. I want to see how much he can take before he goes truly insane. 


	25. The Haunting Smell of a Brewery

Sobriety was overrated. The only time I ever really had fun was when I was drunk, I mused as I tried to find the stairs down to the Slytherin Common Room. Of course, it normally ended in tears anyway, but it had never bothered me before. Unfortunately, lack of sobriety was becoming a problem for me; I no longer recognised the stone walls around me, and the floor was definitely unfamiliar. But my trusty broom and trunk were still with me, and in case of emergency, I could always fly out. How that was possible when I didn't know where I was hadn't managed to penetrate my momentarily thick scull.  
  
Finally, after almost breaking my nose on the rough stone walls of the castle, I gave up and sat down on the floor, trunk in a depressive heap beside me, and my broom having been abandoned in the hands of a suit of armour some feet away. I sat slumped against the wall, and my alcohol- induced delirium gave way to a more depressive mood. The reality of what had actually happened within the last twelve hours began to sink in, now that I was alone, and it did not leave me anywhere near happiness. I was now, basically, a homeless, broke freak with only a tenuous hold on my magic and my sanity.  
  
I've always despised having to sit alone and hear my thoughts echo, which was all they ever seemed to do, so the light footfalls of someone walking down the corridor was more than welcome. Even if it was Filch I'd love him for it. But around the corner came not the flaming torch of of the caretaker, but a tiny hand holding a fluttering candle. The hand was closely followed by an arm and a body wearing the school uniform, with a Prefect's badge pinned to it, to which was attached a head with an all too familiar bushy brown hairstyle. It was just my luck that Granger would have rounds when I stumbled drunk and miserable through the castle. Deciding to bite the bullet this time, I didn't even bother trying to think of a story to explain away my sitting there. I was too drunk, too depressed and much too tired to care any more.  
  
"Who - ? Zabini?" She stuttered somewhat, spinning around when she saw my discarded trunk.  
  
"'Lo." I hailed her by tipping and imaginary hat towards her. Come to think of it, I had my real black hat in my trunk. "I would say something about the weather and how nice it is, except that right now, nothing in the world seems nice, so I'll just pass."  
  
"What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in your Common Room, asleep!" Granger pointed out, snapping, "But – you've got your cloak on, and your trunk, and your broom. What the heck is going on? Why do you reek of alcohol? Are you drunk, Zabini?"  
  
All this came out in a flurry of speech, as she spun around, taking in everything; discarded trunk, thrown-away broom and me on the floor like a thin streak of misery. If it wasn't for the particulars of the situation, I would have smiled. The severe lack of sobriety might have done something too. She finally stopped spinning and I could see her lips move as she put two and two together and did not quite come up with four.  
  
"Zabini, are you running away?" Turned out the came up with the complete opposite of reality. Not too far off, despite that. Only a drunk me could ever see logic in that argument.  
  
"Nope. Have a seat, the floor is quite comfortable," Taking her arm, I pulled her down on the floor. Not even Granger seemed too bad when high on alcohol. "You don't strike me as a daft person, Granger, yet you just showed an amazing amount of dimwittedness. Why should I run away from Hogwarts of all places? This place is more or less my version of a security blanket."  
  
"But, but - "Granger stammered, sitting down weakly, "You've got your trunk, and your broom, and you've got your cloak, and who wears a cloak unless they plan on going outside? You are running away."  
  
"Not away," I said, opening my trunk, "Back. Hat?"  
  
"Hat?" She asked incredulously as I pulled out my black hat from my trunk. "Why do you keep a hat in your trunk?"  
  
"Because it's a friendly hat." I replied, putting it on her head, noticing with a certain drunken satisfaction that it made her look rather wilder than she was. "There, looks smashing I'd say. You look, what do you call it, elvish. Nah, that's not the right word."  
  
"Zabini, you smell like a brewery," Granger waved her hand in front of her face and winced, "What do you mean, you're running back to Hogwarts?"  
  
"I just came back after visiting my wonderful family." I waved vaguely in the air, "And smelling like a brewery is an after-effect of drinking in a bottle of Firewhiskey. Christmas always makes me depressed. Speaking of, is it still Christmas?"  
  
Granger checked her watch, pushing the hat further up so that it wouldn't slip down and cover her eyes. Distantly, I wondered how she kept a Muggle watch working at Hogwarts, where the natural magic usually cancelled out any Muggle apparatus. It was amazing how good she looked in my hat; it looked as if she was born to wear it it. Firewhiskey is the best way to the completely plastered without nasty side-effects, come to think of it. I had to be plastered; there was no way I'd think Granger looked good otherwise.  
  
"Yes. It's still a few minutes till midnight." She said. "Why?"  
  
"Good! Still time to open presents then!" I started going through my trunk. "I didn't have a chance to open them before, so I'll do it now. Let's start with, here, Millie's."  
  
Millicent had a habit of wrapping my presents in plain white paper, because apparently, it was a Japanese custom, or some other Eastern country, for showing you wanted the receiver dead. It was usually accompanied with a snatch of a morbid poem by Poe. My presents to her were wrapped in black paper with the simple word "Die" on it in white letters. All in jest, of course, but it had become a tradition. I ripped the paper off, and the present revealed itself to be a book. A heavy book, with silver writing on black background.  
  
"I can't believe it! She managed to get me a copy of Twisted Reality!" I was nearly squeaking with excitement. Twisted Reality was the only wizard- written novel I'd ever enjoyed; all other books just seemed autobiographical, all about how the author had had a lot of adventures and was so great. Twisted Reality was just that, and I was probably the only kid in the world who ever read it as a bed-time story when I was ten. "Hope the crystal-plant I sent her will be enough."  
  
"May I?" Granger asked, gesturing to the book.  
  
"Sure; I've read it a million times; go ahead. Everyone should read it at least once." I said, "Oh, look, Pansy got me a wrist-sheath for my wand. How nice. Gaspar got me a textbook. What a surprise." I dead-panned, "If only it was for a subject I took, instead of Practical Application of Divination. Cain got me a small bag of marbles. Original, if nothing else. Hopefully, I'll get an explanation of what I'm supposed to do with them. Agnes gave me a diary. Useful if I need to remember something. Will be checked for hexes, curses and spells later. And now, let's see what kind of animal Theo has drawn this year."  
  
Carefully unwrapping Theo's gift, because I didn't want to rip it, Granger leaned over my shoulder to see what it was. What came out of the wrapping wasn't what I'd expected. Instead of the usual dragons and unicorns, this one was frighteningly simple by comparison. On a plain, white sheet of paper, Theo had drawn my eyes. I could easily tell it was mine, because no one else had one blue and one green eye. What amazed me was the careful attention to detail; in my green eye, I had a speck of black close to the edge of the iris, which he had painstakingly painted in. Granger whispered something, too low for even me to hear, even though she was inches away from my ear.  
  
"My, Theo's skill's improved." I said, after a while. "I think I'll put this up on my wall. Brightens up an otherwise gloomy Christmas, doesn't it?"  
  
"It's beautiful," She replied, apparently not realising that it was my eyes in the picture. "We really shouldn't be out here; Filch doesn't patrol as often over breaks, but he still does, and he'll be turning up any minute now."  
  
She stood up, and I stuffed all my things back in my trunk, though I was exceedingly careful with the picture, and stood up as well, picking up all my discarded belongings. Before I had time to say anything, she'd handed me Twisted Reality and was off down the corridor. I stood there for a moment, smiling, before I turned and walked down the stairs. Always a safe bet when trying to find the dungeons. Sooner or later, I'd find the Common Room.  
  
'  
  
The Common Room was dark and empty; but for Theo's sleeping form, there was nothing there but old furniture and marks of generations passed by. Quietly, I walked up the stairs and dumped my trunk on the floor and my broom on Goyle's bed. The picture of my own eyes was tacked up on the wall, and my cloak thrown in a crumpled heap vaguely in the direction of the clothes pile the House Elves were supposed to remove every morning.  
  
Rubbing my eyes, I yawned so hugely that my jaws popped. It had been a day much too long. Now, back at Hogwarts and finally able to relax somewhat, my hands shook and my muscles cramped. Trying to steady my hands, I slipped out of my shirt and my trousers, and crawled into bed tiredly. No other place could feel as safe as my bed at Hogwarts; the strange silent sound of snow falling and the soft pillows of the bed comforted me more than a whole bottle of Firewhiskey ever could. In the morning, things would be shot to hell, but not now. All I wanted to do now was sleep.  
  
My restless mind took some time settling down, and flitted across a million things. It avoided the topic of my mother, and circled around things such as Vlad's blood on my hands, and Hermione in my hat. She'd looked so cute, and the ease with which she'd watched me open my presents and talked to me was astonishing for a Gryffindor of her degree. In certain ways, she was a bone-deep Gryffindor, in others, she was much different from them. Where they shunned studying unless they had to, she did it for fun, and sometimes it seemed, compulsively. It was as if she had to prove she was good enough to be at Hogwarts, good enough for the likes of Draco Malfoy, better even. The nervous need to show that she wasn't as dumb as all Slytherins said they were was an outbreak of this.  
  
Too many times I'd ridiculed her for it, but I could understand her, in a fashion. Proving oneself and proving how strong you were was a way to win things in the Snake's Den. You could never show just how strong you were, keep them guessing and you were on the safe side, but you couldn't go through seven years here passively. Kick or be kicked, would be a decent metaphor. I imagined the Gryffindor way was similar, but not quite. There, it was be heard or be forgotten. If you kept in the dark, on the sidelines, you would never be more than a name in a yearbook. Hermione Granger was much too proud and much too focused to settle for that. She wanted her name in history books, if only to prove that Muggleborns have the right to attend Hogwarts.  
  
Too bad Slytherin didn't accept Muggleborn in their ranks. She would have made a wonderful Slytherin, as soon as we'd taken the naïve belief that everyone was good deep down out of her. The image of her in Slytherin colours flashed before my mind's eye, and I couldn't keep from smiling. She was the only person I could ever remember liking, outside of Slytherin, that was. The Hufflepuffs were nice, in a safe, secure way, but I didn't know them, nor did I know the Ravenclaws, though they were friendlier to us than other Houses.  
  
The last though before I fled into sleep was that Hermione was on her way to her Common Room, still wide awake if I knew her like I thought I did, and looking out for Filch around every corner.  
  
Still wearing my hat.  
  
Life was good.  
  
'  
  
Theo looked like he hadn't slept very well, which when it came to Theo wasn't unusual, when I came down in the Common Room the next morning. He hailed me with a tired "are-you-back-already" and stood up from the couch. For someone with a terminal sleeping-on-the-couch syndrome, he didn't look too shabby. Most people look as if they've rolled around on a dusty highway and hit every branch of the rumpled tree while falling down, but he didn't. He just looked more tired than when he fell asleep, and there was this unease about him, as if he knew there was something wrong, he just couldn't say what it was.  
  
"Well, don't you look happy," I said as we went to breakfast, "Who died?"  
  
Instead of laughing it off, like I thought he would, he looked even more uneasy.  
  
"I don't know. I had a nightmare last night, which, for me, is not that unusual, but this one was different." He said as we climbed the stairs, "Usually, it's – this one wasn't as personal as the others were." Of course I noticed how he skipped telling me of his other nightmares. I'm not stupid. I wasn't stupid enough to ask, either. "It was as if I was looking through someone else's eyes, and that someone wasn't having a good time. They got very dead."  
  
"I've had dreams like that sometimes, and I'm sure this isn't exactly the first time for you to have one either, so what caused the worry?" Theo worrying about nightmares was unusual, to say the least; most of the time, he just ignored them.  
  
"Everyone's been walking around looking as if they're being stalked by rabid monsters since Lucas came back," He gestured. "When he came back without you yesterday, it seems longer somehow, I got worried. When he told me you'd be coming back on your own, I calmed down a bit, but things have been jumpy since you left. Granger's been climbing on the walls."  
  
"She has?" This surprised me greatly; I was not Granger's favourite person, from what I'd gathered. "Why?"  
  
"Couldn't say. You know she's the only Gryffindor who stayed over Christmas, so of course she's getting jumpy, and when you go away and she doesn't know why, it's only logical she'd assume kidnapping. Dumbledore calmed her down, though it didn't stop her pacing."  
  
"Odd. She caught me when I came back last night. Thought I was running away. If I hadn't been here for, what is it now, three days, then how am I supposed to run away?" I snorted, "Didn't seem so strange then, but then again, I was drunk."  
  
"Must've been Firewhiskey, or you'd be vomiting now," Theo laughed, looking a little happier. "but maybe it's delayed hangover; don't throw up on Granger at breakfast though, or she might hex you."  
  
We walked through the doors of the Great Hall, and the statement of not vomiting on Granger suddenly made sense; in my absence, the House tables had been put along the walls, and a surprisingly small table was left in its wake. Just big enough to fit the staff, Theo and I, Granger, three Hufflepuffs and two Ravenclaws. Lucas was there, talking to Sinistra, who looked as if death might be an improvement, and McGonagall sat silently beside Dumbledore, with new lines on her face. Even the perpetual twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone missing. Something was wrong.  
  
I sat down in the only available seat, since Theo snatched the one between McGonagall and Sinistra. I got stuck between Lucas and Granger. Just my luck, I sighed to myself as I reached for the coffee pot. Stuck between the girl who probably believed I was stark raving and the man who drove me there. Theo nearly burst out laughing looking at me, and I grimaced in his general direction. Maybe coffee would help matters some. Lucas and Granger certainly weren't. Lucas was cutting his toast into soldiers, seemingly unaware of the rest of the world, while I could practically feel Granger shaking.  
  
Nervous, she was. Must think I was crazy after last night's spectacle. I would, that was for sure. The Hufflepuffs were talking so quietly to each other that no one but a teacher might hear them, and the Ravenclaws looked as if they'd pulled an all-nighter, and were preparing to go to bed after breakfast. I never understood pulling all-nighters just for the heck of it. Staying up all night was something you did when you were going frantic studying for O.W.L's or N.E.W.T's, or when you were just high on sugar.  
  
As breakfast went on, the silence slowly became unbearable. Lucas moved on from his toast to his tea, and with extreme care swirled some milk into it, out most concentrated on his task. Granger struck up a conversation with the Ravenclaws, trying to save herself from the silence, I suppose. There was nothing for me to do but talk to Lucas unless I wanted to go even more mad than I already was.  
  
"Professor?" I queried, trying to get his attention.  
  
"Yes?" He dragged his attention away from his tea.  
  
"We're halfway through the year now, and despite what any healthy and sane student might want, the exams are approaching," I held back a smirk when I heard Granger gasp at my veiled insult. "And I was wondering: you told us at the beginning of the year that you had an exam planned for us that was out of the ordinary. Will we be taking that exam, or a normal textbook one?"  
  
"The Headmaster is still considering, Zabini," Lucas said, looking at said Headmaster in something akin to amusement. "Though I expect that you are all perfectly capable of passing the exam with flying colours. Not that I do not understand his apprehension. The exam is certainly, how shall we say, unconventional."  
  
"Would a list petitioning for an unconventional exam help?" I asked, wondering what exactly he had in mind for us.  
  
"It wouldn't hurt." Lucas shrugged.  
  
Nodding silently, I searched my pockets for a quill and a piece of parchment to write on. The heading became "Protest List for Better Exams" and my name scribbled on in green ink. I liked green ink, even if it was horribly stereotypical. I'd stolen it from Pansy anyway. She never used it; she favoured the lurid purple one for some reason. I passed it to my left, to Granger, along with my quill. I had others. After scanning the beginning to a list, Granger took the quill and resolutely wrote her own name underneath mine, with the same green ink. It felt odd to see her name written in green, since she seemed to red-and-gold through and through. She passed it on to Terry Boot, who was reading it over her shoulder, and twirled my quill between her fingers.  
  
Satisfied with what I'd started, I didn't bother claiming my quill back, and returned to my cup of coffee. Theo raised his eyebrow and nodded towards Granger questioningly. I shrugged and sipped my coffee. Let him wonder. Lucas raised his eyebrow at me as well, and I put on my best hell raising-grin. Starting trouble was a favourite activity of mine.  
  
Breakfast went faster after that, as whispering spread, whispers about the list. Terry signed it, as did Finch-Fletchley, before the list returned to Granger. She took it and after a glance at me, she excused herself and headed out the door, mumbling something about owls. It seemed as if she was sending the list off to her friends to sign, even before they came back to school. Efficient that girl is.  
  
"What was that all about?" Theo asked as we left the Hall.  
  
"Protest list for a different exam than usual." I grinned again. "We don't know what it is, but Lucas promised it would be unconventional. Since conventional calls for three hours of scribbling on dusty parchment, I'd say I'll go for the other option, whatever it is. I don't enjoy boredom."  
  
"I do." Theo looked pensive, "I like boredom. It lasts."  
  
Trust Theo to ruin a perfectly happy moment by stealing my modus operandi and being depressive. Well, he could have it for a moment. I could be depressive tomorrow. Speaking of tomorrow, that would be a good time to reclaim all the things of mine that Granger had at the moment. My hat, for example.  
  
Maybe I'd let her keep it. It would be fun to watch her try to explain its presence to her Housemates.  
  
'  
  
Ending Notes; Blaise is being eeeeeeeeeevil. Well, maybe he doesn't deserve all the extra "e"'s, but he's at least Hellraiser!Blaise at the moment. 


	26. Modified Truths

Theo had been right.  
  
Everyone was walking around as if Sirius Black was on the loose and had been spotted in Hogsmeade. Even Lucas, the man who never seemed bothered by anything but me, was looking over his shoulder. And Dumbledore wasn't twinkling at everyone any more. Something was wrong, though no student seemed to know what it was; only the teachers, who went around looking paler than the Bloody Baron. Whatever it was, no one would tell us, even if Theo and I carefully tried to pry it out of anyone we could. When outright asked, Granger presented me with a blank face and a quick walk in the other direction.  
  
She still hadn't given my hat back.  
  
Maybe I'd let her keep it. For a while.  
  
I wasn't stupid. I'd like to think I rarely was. The uneasiness had something to do with the war. Maybe things weren't going well for those who opposed Voldemort. Maybe Potter had blown a fuse and disappeared. Maybe Snape wasn't just missing any more; maybe he was dead. Whatever it was, it stayed a secret. As the secrecy wound on, and the Christmas break was slowly stuttering to a halt, my list went about everywhere; carried by owls, by hands, by word of mouth to every sixth year, if not every student in attendance at Hogwarts, and it grew. If Dumbledore would take it into consideration, we'd be getting our unconventional exams.  
  
Judging from the rumoured length of the list, he'd have no choice.  
  
The dreaded day before classes started, everyone was coming back. Some Flooed to Hogsmeade and walked with their trunks, some tandem-Apparated with their parents to the Three Broomsticks, and some came back by train. Draco, Millicent and Gaspar were among the former, and came dragging their own trunks from Hogsmeade. Draco had even been too lazy to lift it while walking, and had worn quite a hole in it. Gaspar had taken Millicent's trunk, and was carrying both it and his own. Millicent spent her walk dividing her time between nagging Draco for not carrying his trunk properly and making eyes at Gaspar.  
  
"Blaise!" Draco called, waving his arm wildly, "You won't believe the Christmas I've had!"  
  
"I find that odd; I'm a very believing person," I replied, standing on the steps of Hogwarts. "Tell me then."  
  
"Mother said that since she's only got me to care for, she'd make this Christmas spectacular, and did she ever!" The grin on his face was so wide it looked to hurt. "I've never gotten so much gifts in my life, and the Christmas dinner was to die for!"  
  
"Mhm." I rolled my eyes. That's basically what he told me every year after Christmas. Don't know why it would make a difference now. "Did you get the list?"  
  
"The one about exams?" Millicent asked, "Yeah we did; got it from Tracy Davies, who got it from, of all people, Loony Lovegood. Apparently Tracy decided not even broken up Houses would stop her. Who started it?"  
  
"I did. Lucas wouldn't tell me what the exam was, just that he needed Dumbledore's approval, and I figure that the students wishes might help." I shrugged, as I picked up Draco's trunk and carried it over my shoulder. "You still got it?"  
  
"Nope. I sent it off to Daphne," Draco said. "She might not take Defence, and she might not talk to us any more, but it was worth a shot at least. And if we don't get it back, it would be a nice reason to twist her arms a bit."  
  
"Hm. I'll just wait for it to come back 'round then." I mumbled.  
  
'  
  
Turns out I didn't have to wait too long. The first day after everyone came back, I was standing at a corner in the hallway, halfway between breakfast and Arithmancy, talking to Millicent, when she list sprouted legs and walked up to me. Well, it didn't happen exactly like that, but with the rumours flying about the list, it wouldn't be unbelievable.  
  
It was, in fact, the definitely more credible Granger who walked up to me with the list in her hand. When it left Hogwarts, it had been maybe seven names long, but the roll of parchment she had in her hands now was heavier than any essay we'd ever handed in to Snape. I couldn't help but grin: of the Headmaster wouldn't take this into consideration, not even a tsunami would change his mind.  
  
"Your list, Zabini." She said stiffly, handing it to me.  
  
"Wonderful, Granger." I grinned widely, not able to help myself. "Who did you bribe to sign this monstrosity?"  
  
"No one." She glared, suddenly angry. Who would have thought it would be so fun driving Granger up the wall. "They signed it of their own free will, as you well know, Zabini."  
  
"Calm down, would you? Thanks for the list, by the way, but I have to get to class now. You have to as well, as I recall." Stuffing the list in my book-bag, I set off to the Arithmancy classroom. As soon as I could, I would drop it off to Lucas.  
  
Vector still hadn't gotten over Granger and I "fighting" in the corridors, and sent me a particularly evil look when I entered. Taking a random seat, I tried to concentrate on the lesson. It was something about X:s and Y:s and equations, which I didn't really get a lot of, since Vector was talking a whole lot about her first time learning these things. A lot of anecdotes that didn't make sense even to Granger, who was sitting in front of Vector with a look of polite puzzlement on her face.  
  
The lesson ended, and I knew about as much as I had when I entered the classroom. Which didn't amount to very much. Checking my timetable momentarily, I saw that I had just enough time to drop the list off to Lucas before my next class. I bumped into Padma Patil, mumbled something that could be taken as an apology, and walked out of the classroom. I hadn't had time to check the list, but it seemed quite substantial: judging from the length of it, all of the sixth year and a lot of the other students had signed it.  
  
Lucas' door was open when I came around the corner, so he couldn't be having a class. Merlin knew that if he had his door open while teaching, all sorts of unholy things would come crawling out. Some of them would probably have more eyes than legs, and more arms than teeth. Besides, if his door was open, half of his students would walk out on him.  
  
"Knock, knock," I said, knocking on the door frame.  
  
"Who's there?" He answered without looking up from his work.  
  
"Blaise."  
  
"Blaise who?" He asked grumpily, and I raised my eyebrow. Was I that forgettable?  
  
"Blaise who isn't trying to make a joke. Are you busy?"  
  
"I might be." Finally, he looked up and realised it was me, "What do you want this time? No nervous breakdowns, I hope?"  
  
"Nope, sorry to disappoint. I just thought I'd drop off the list of names picketing for unconventional exams." I put it on his desk. "Have there been anything like this before at Hogwarts?"  
  
"How should I know? Do I look like your bloody history professor?" Lucas hissed, annoyed, "Go ask Binns."  
  
His sudden outburst surprised me. Of all my professors, it was Lucas and Dumbledore I counted on to never show anything but confidence or the occasional amusement. Annoyed snapping was not on approved emotional states for either of them. They just weren't allowed. I frowned and looked at him more closely.  
  
"What's up with you: you're worse than Snape on a bad day. Did something happen?" I questioned.  
  
"You could say that," He breathed slowly through his nose to calm himself down. "Since I returned before Christmas, everything bad that could happen, has happened. The shit hit the fan, the devil went down to Georgia, and the camel's back broke."  
  
"Wouldn't the devil go up to Georgia, not down?"  
  
"Muggle-culture reference." Lucas waved it off, "Things have been not quite going our way. Fudge has been slowly shutting down the Department of Mysteries, because he's afraid something will happen there again. I'm sure you noticed they were frighteningly few when you visited. And that's not all of it either. I've got to deal with some of it, and would you mind stepping outside while I do so? I find I think better alone."  
  
"Good luck with the devil," I muttered, stepping outside and shutting the door. "Wish Snape was back: then I wouldn't have to bother Lucas so much."  
  
The rest of the day drifted past in a blur, everything happening normally. Millie grumbled about essays, and I did my Transfiguration homework in class, while McGonagall was watching, which was quite a feat. Bit of a sport, really. It was also rather difficult to keep myself from accidentally doing wandless magic. Gradually, the thing that was at least formally insanity was making me incapable of using a wand, though it was still possible to perform transfigurations with it, since I was only learning the less difficult spells without it.  
  
Wandless magic was actually rather liberating, the more I thought about it. If you broke a wizard's wand, he would no longer be capable of magic, except for the most basic things, such as a vague recognition of fellow wizards and witches. Since soon I won't be able to use a wand, even if I wanted to, I won't have that problem.  
  
Kind of neat, but kind of scary. Power corrupts, as any good Slytherin knows. Absolute power either keeps you ahead of the game, or tips you over the edge. Voldemort had first gone ahead of the game, and then gone so far over the edge he'd come up on the other side. Lucas also had power, even if Dumbledore didn't like him. Most of the time, he got his way despite that, which just proved that he knew what he was doing and could get away with it.  
  
When the lessons and dinner were finally done with, we all retreated to the Slytherin Common Room to catch up a bit, since two of us had stayed at Hogwarts. Usually, we spend Christmas together, but obviously not this time. I sank down in one of the armchairs and half-listened as Agnes told us of her rather glum, locked-up Christmas. Apparently, her relatives still thought she was crazy. The rest of the group laughed and talked and joked, while I disappeared into a comfortable, not quite awake state, hearing them, but not listening to what they said.  
  
This of course, led to that I didn't keep up with the topic of conversation at all. When Millicent shook my shoulder and I resurfaced into the world of the living again, they seemed to be talking about lawn ornaments. But of course, that could just have been me.  
  
"What?" I asked. "Something the matter?"  
  
"Yeah, you are: you haven't said a word in three hours, Blaise. We're getting a little worried about you." She told me.  
  
"I'm fine. A bit tired, that's all. I've a headache too: I think Anja's Firewhiskey hasn't gotten out of my body yet." I rubbed my eyes.  
  
"Anja's Friewhiskey?" Gaspar asked. "Am I the only one feeling like that went way over our heads and out the window? Who's Anja, and why did she give you Firewhiskey?"  
  
"Have you been keeping things from us, Blaise?" Pansy asked lazily from the floor. "That's not nice. Not nice at all."  
  
My eyes widened when I realised what I'd just said. Judging from the dangerous look in Pansy's and Millicent's eyes, I wouldn't be getting out of this as easily as I'd gotten into it. Caught like a rat in a trap, I stared at them in panic. My mind flickered over the register of lies I had at my disposal, and tried to find an appropriate one.  
  
The stone cold truth was, definitely, not a viable option. But perhaps part of it.  
  
"She works at the Ministry. I forget which Department, but I met her there when I was there to settle things after Father died." Amazing, how easy it was to say now, if I just ignored the fact that it still hurt like a bitch, "I went to their makeshift cafeteria, and had a cup of coffee, since the Ministry officials persisted in treating me like a six year old. She came stomping down the corridor and snatched the coffee-pot out of my hands and started complaining to the empty air." My, I was getting good at lying. I almost believed myself. "We got to talking, and when I came back the other times, I ran into her and her friends."  
  
"Is this a secret relationship with an older woman, or have I missed the Firewhiskey part?" Theo asked.  
  
"Get out of the gutter, Theo," I sighed wearily. "The woman is thirty-five, and no cradle-robber, despite what her brother accuses her of. My Christmas doesn't exactly merit an entry in the Hogwarts' Book of Records, and if it does, it's only because it was so bad. So I came back her earlier than I was supposed to: I flew to England, on my old Silver Arrow you remember? Well, since I was bone tired, I touched down on the closest magical property I could find. It just happened to belong to Anja's family. They're all crazy, and some of them were speaking Russian. Well, it sounded like Russian anyway. I didn't pay attention: I was busy socking Anja's brother in the nose to notice."  
  
"You hit her brother?" Draco raised an eyebrow, "What did he do?"  
  
"He assumed I was Anja's latest boyfriend. Assumptions like that get you very dead normally, but I didn't have the patience to find my wand, so I socked him." I shrugged. "Anja poured me a glass of Firewhiskey, perhaps to celebrate that I'd broken her brother's nose, perhaps just to pass the time. I told myself to only have one drink. One drink ended up arriving in a dozen glasses. A whole bottle by the end of that half-hour. Thank Merlin my mother isn't the only one in the family with a knack for sounding sober when pissed."  
  
Silence settled for a while after I'd finished speaking. Maybe I'd lied too much. Maybe I'd told them too much of the truth, and now their brains were damaged. Lucas would kill me if I reduced the thinking part of the Slytherin sixth year to gibbering lunatics.  
  
"Now would be your cue for a reaction." I piped up.  
  
"We don't exactly know what to say, Blaise." Millicent grinned suddenly. "Your torrid affair with a Ministry employee has us stumped."  
  
"Argh! What is it with you people and wanting me to shag random women?" I stood up and started pacing the floor. "Is it some petty revenge for keeping things from you?"  
  
"Blaise, you haven't had a girlfriend since you were five years old, and I broke up with you because you stole my dolls," Millicent pointed out, "You can't blame us for wanting you to get some action."  
  
"Those dolls were needed to complete my experiment, thank you very much." I snapped. "And you haven't had a boyfriend since you were five either Millie, though it's not for lack of trying." I threw a pointed look at Gaspar.  
  
"What?" He asked, confused. "What do I have to do with all this?"  
  
"Nothing." I grumbled. "I'm going to leave now, so that you can shop for a girlfriend for me all by yourselves."  
  
And so I left. The conversation with Millicent and the others had wound me up tight, and I really needed a cigarette, but it was still snowing outside since it was January, so I'd have to settle for a cup of coffee if I could get to the kitchen without getting caught. But it wouldn't be a good idea, since Filch had a nasty habit of patrolling around the kitchen after dinner.  
  
I turned and walked the other way, up towards the Great Hall. It wasn't curfew yet, but Filch would get suspicious if I hung around the kitchen. Might as well see how the Great Hall looked after dark. Pushing the door to the dark Hall open, I walked over to the first table. At night, the House- banners were stored away Dumbledore knows where, and the tables just stood around like regular pieces of wood. I sat down on the table, since I was too lazy to find out what they did to the benches at night, and watched the ceiling.  
  
It had stopped snowing, and the heavy clouds were breaking up. Beyond them I could see the clearest sky dotted with stars like crushed diamonds on blue velvet. A bit florid, perhaps, but it certainly fit the look of the sky. Besides, I needed to be distracted from the fact that my friends were probably planning who to set me up with down in the dungeons. I craned my neck and kept staring at the ceiling quietly. It wasn't as if there was someone to speak to anyway.  
  
"Zabini?"  
  
I could be wrong of course. I turned around and met the eyes of Hermione Granger.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I came to return your hat." She held it up, "You remember you gave it to me over the break."  
  
I looked at the black hat in her hands, and, despite my own better judgement, smiled and made a decision I would never have made had I gotten my coffee. I turned back to the ceiling.  
  
"Keep it. I'll claim it when I need it." I said. "Till then, you can have it."  
  
"Right," She mumbled, cradling the hat in her arms. "I'll just go and do my homework then."  
  
"You do that." I said cheerfully, still not looking at her.  
  
I watched her leave, her shoulders slumped and mumbling to herself. Just as the doors closed, I saw her hold the hat up and stare at it. She certainly was odd. When other people were around, she would be stiff and stand- offish, but when we ran into each other after curfew, or when no one else was there, she'd be awkwardly friendly and polite. She puzzled me, she really did. It called for a more serious investigation, but I had neither the time nor the energy to do so. Maybe sometime when I hadn't just been disowned by my family, hadn't yet gotten over my father's death and wasn't still annoyed with my House-mates.  
  
She had my hat. That meant I had a hold on her.  
  
Maybe life wasn't too bad at the moment.  
  
'  
  
Ending Notes: This chapter is a bit shorter than I'd like it to be, but I need to get the plot rolling now, or I'll never be finished. I've got most of the general plot-line for the third part of this trilogy, and I know most of what I'm going to write in this part after school's out. I've even got a few of the exams planned. But from here to exams, I'm going to need to do a bit of planning. 


	27. Tempus Flugit

The days drifted by slowly, almost too slowly for my taste, and I sank into a comfortable daze. I wasn't bothered by others, and they didn't bother me. I did my homework, I attended my lessons, and while I didn't do as well as Granger did, I wasn't failing either. So I spent all of January, and the first week and a half of February.  
  
February 14th dropped like a stone on my head.  
  
I hate Valentine's Day. It's not the simpering teenage love-declarations, it's not the roses or the chocolates, and it's not even the horrid colours everywhere. What gets me though, is how people seem to think that Valentine's Day is the only time to truly appreciate girlfriends or boyfriends or husbands or wives. Stupid really. But Valentine's Day came knocking before I had time to barricade myself in my dorm.  
  
Therefore, my mood wasn't the best when I sat down at breakfast. Agnes and Theo were discreetly holding each other's hands, and looking quite happy. Well, that did lighten my mood a bit. It was nice that there was one boy in Slytherin who wasn't stumped in the romantic area. Gaspar seemed to watch Millicent a bit more, but it hadn't gone any further than that, and Draco, well, Draco was a story all by himself. He'd been working his way through the sixth year girls, changing the girl he fancied about once every three days. He hadn't gotten further than fancying and a stolen kiss or two, though.  
  
And still, my friends had not found me a girlfriend. I was rather happy with the way things were – I didn't need a girlfriend, nor did I want one. For that matter, there wasn't a girl in school who wanted to be more than friends with me. And even those girls numbered about two, being Millicent and Pansy. And Agnes, of course. I was pathetic, and planned to stay that way. It was better for the world if I didn't even get the chance to put Zabini-offspring on the earth.  
  
It seemed everyone was attending breakfast, if only because it was a perfect time to see girls' or boys' reaction to Valentines. Leaning back, I watched the other tables. Hufflepuffs always seem to like Valentine's Day: Macmillan was trying to charm Hannah Abbott, and failing utterly, but Abbott didn't seem to mind. In fact, she was smiling. Lisa Turpin was looking attentively at Terry Boot, and Cho Chang was playing tonsil-hockey with Michael Corner.  
  
Harry Potter was blushing in the general direction of Ginny Weasley, Dean Thomas handed a picture to the She-Weasley as well, so it seemed Potter had competition. Her older brother was picking in his food and making eyes at Susan Bones. Granger was looking disgusted. Seems she didn't like Valentine's Day either. She got up and left. Without thinking, I got up as well.  
  
Valentine's Day was on a Sunday, so no classes. Like Lucas said, no one in their right mind would bother teachers on weekends, unless they were named Hermione Granger or in deadly trouble. Since anyone likely to be in deadly trouble was Potter, and he was mooning over Weasely, most of the teachers had somehow excused themselves from breakfast, and in fact all of the meals, and retreated either to their offices or to the Hog's Head. For February, it was unusually warm, and some couples opted to take a walk around the lake. Since the rest of them were infesting the castle, I was left with the choice of Hogsmeade or barricading myself in my dorm. Draco would no doubt stop by the dorm, and I wouldn't have a choice but to let him in, so I chose to sneak off to Hogsmeade.  
  
If the teachers found me, they couldn't exactly blame me.  
  
Hogsmeade wasn't any better, I realised upon my arrival. The pink was everywhere, and when I entered the Three Broomsticks, I changed my mind immediately when seeing Madam Rosmerta being snogged by a random customer. Sod it, even if the Hog's Head was full of teachers, it had to be better than this. Even detention was better than full exposure to Valentine's Day. The midgets from our second year had left bad memories.  
  
'  
  
The Hog's Head was, as usual, rather empty: there was a warlock near the door, two Scotsmen at the bar, a woman with red hair talking to the bartender, and a fair number of Hogwarts staff at the big table. McGonagall, Flitwick, (funny, I thought he'd like Valentine's Day), Vector, Sinistra and Lucas. Snape would have been there too, had he not been missing, since he hated Valentine's Day with the fiery passion of a thousand suns. Not for the first time, I wondered where Snape was. Dumbledore hadn't reacted severely enough for him to have been kidnapped, but since all teachers were looking like the Bloody Baron were haunting them, something must be wrong.  
  
After ordering a Butterbeer, I settled down at the bar, keeping my head turned from the teachers. Someone had probably seen me when I came in, but hopefully I'd shut the door fast enough. The Hog's Head was dark, even on a sunny day, and with the back-lighting I'd had, I shouldn't have been recognisable. Either way, it didn't bother me. Detentions were something of a Slytherin habit. Maybe this time I wouldn't have to clean the Owlery though. Nothing was worth cleaning the Owlery. Sure enough, just as I was halfway though my Butterbeer, a hand clamped down on my shoulder.  
  
"You're out of bounds, Mr Zabini." McGonagall's stern voice told me. "This is no Hogsmeade weekend."  
  
"Nope. It's Valentine's Day," I said, wrinkling my nose and turning around, "And staying at school would been a choice between barricading myself and having to stand the celebrations, which is more or less a choice between a plague or cholera."  
  
"Really now, Mr Zabini, that was uncalled for," She chastised me, though I could see a smile tugging at her mouth. Apparently the old bird had a sense of humour. "Though if you believe you will catch cholera if I send you back to the castle, it is surely a case for Madam Pomfrey. Since she happens to be here, I'll let her make an assessment of the situation. If there is any risk of illness, you will of course be forced to stay here."  
  
Amazing, the woman even made it sound like a punishment. She dragged me over to the teacher's table, and made me sit between Pomfrey and Lucas. Pomfrey gave me a medical once-over, and pronounced me unfit to return to the castle. Sometimes, making friends with the school nurse is a very, very bright move. McGonagall, Lucas and Ponfrey managed to pull off the thing so well that Vector even asked if it was a disease that ran in the family. It bothered me a bit though, that they were paying so much attention to me, and treating me as if I was special.  
  
"No offence, really, I appreciate being allowed to stay in Hogsmeade, but why?" I piped up after a while.  
  
"Because we all loathe Valentine's Day, boy," Sinistra said, surprising me. I hadn't had Astronomy lessons in almost a year, and had become unused to her voice. She sounded as if she'd just bitten an ice-cube. Eos Sinistra had been a Slytherin at school, and had perfected the art of verbal abuse, at least if you could trust the school yearbooks and chronicles. "And wouldn't send another human into that madness without a very good cause."  
  
"Right."  
  
So there I sat, glass in hand, between the school nurse and the school nutcase, who just happened to be an ex-Dark Wizard. Vector and Sinistra discussed the names of stars, while Flitwick and Pomfrey were talking about magical theory and the use of charms in medical care. McGonagall was slowly drinking herself into a stupor, while Lucas and I watched silently. Drinking really was a spectator sport. There's few things funnier than guessing what someone's like drunk, and finding out.  
  
McGonagall, for example, was a quiet drunk. She just kept on drinking, not even stopping to order new ones. The others just did it for her. Pomfrey wasn't very drunk, but enjoyed talking to Flitwick, who was. The tiny Charms' professor was a verbal drunk. He chattered on endlessly, never losing his sunny smile. Sometimes, I thought it was glued on every morning No one could possibly be that happy. Vector was just slightly drunk, and the same as she ever was. Lucas was drinking water, and even I couldn't get drunk on only one bottle of alcohol.  
  
The drunk that surprised me though, was Sinistra. She got more and more verbal as the drinks progressed, but she also got more and more insulting as time went on. She slurred a bit in her speech, and tapered off to one side like a broken spinning top, rudely insulting everyone she could think of, but with the touch of wit that marked most Slytherins. The part that surprised me wasn't the fact that she got rude, or even that her speech slurred: it was that she was leaning more and more into Lucas shoulder as she got less sober. Lucas didn't seem to mind though, and just kept drinking his water.  
  
"What gets me though," Sinistra said, waving her glass, deep in a speech about Valentine's Day, the topic dearest to her heart, "Is that men seem to think that as long as they act nicely to women on Valentine's Day, they're allowed to be pigs the rest of the year. I mean, just because the 14th of February has been elevated to some kind of day of love doesn't mean one should ignore one's partner all other days. One day of love and devotion doesn't open up for a year of acrimony."  
  
"Trust you to use big words when you're drunk, Eos," Lucas chuckled.  
  
"Shutup, Vinnie," Sinistra smacked him over the head, "You're the one who held a speech on the details of quantum mechanics when you were pissed off your rocker in seventh year."  
  
"Quantum mechanics?" I asked, trying to keep from laughing.  
  
"Yeah, something about tiny particles and how fast they moved," Sinistra waved me off. "Didn't make much sense when I was sober, and then I couldn't touch sobriety with a ten foot pole."  
  
We didn't get much further on the topic of Valentine's Day and why men are pigs or quantum mechanics, because the door was thrown open by none other than Hermione Granger, the perpetual annoyance. She looked like she had been crying, for some reason, and as soon as she spotted the teachers, she made a beeline for our table. McGonagall, who had been well on her way to unconsciousness, woke up a bit and stared at her. Even Sinistra, who didn't seem to care about anyone as long as she got something said, shut up for a moment.  
  
"Ms Granger?" McGonagall said, "What in the world is it?"  
  
"Professor, it's Harry," She was breathing as if she'd been running. "He's gone off to the Forest!"  
  
"Why on earth would he do such a daft thing?" Vector asked. "There's werewolves in that forest."  
  
"It's the centaurs, they took Lavender and Parvati, and Firenze is hurt!" She was wringing her hands and crying for real now. "Please, you have to help!"  
  
"Calm down, Ms Granger, of course we are going to help," Madam Pomfrey tried to calm her. "The Potter boy just has the worst timing. On Valentine's Day when half the staff is drunk."  
  
"Drunk? Now?" She was almost screeching. I clapped my hands over my ears and winced.  
  
"How come I am always the only sober person in a group full of women?" Lucas asked the ceiling, "No offence, Filius, I didn't count you. Or Eos." He added.  
  
"I don't think I'm drunk enough to allow that kind of talk," Sinistra said, before taking a long look at Lucas, and tipping back the rest of her Firewhiskey in one go.  
  
"Please, we must do something!" Granger pleaded, nearly breaking down, though she tried her best to stop the tears.  
  
"As much as it pains me to admit, I've got to agree with Granger. Potter's in a fix, and he needs help." I chipped in. "Could you please organise the drunks, Professor Lucas?"  
  
"Shortly." He replied, and proceeded to do just that.  
  
Flitwick, who was still passably sober, was sent back to Hogwarts on the double, together with Madam Pomfrey. Vector, McGonagall and Lucas himself readied themselves to head out into the forest to rope in Potter, while Sinistra fell asleep on the table. Before they left, Lucas roped me in for a quick talk.  
  
"You take Granger back to the castle, and when you're there, make sure she doesn't leave without you. I'm serious about this, Zabini. If you let her leave for the Forest or anywhere but the bathroom without you, I'm going to behead you when I come back. And that's nothing compared to what McGonagall and Dumbledore, not to mention the other Gryffindors would do." He gestured to Granger, who was discreetly trying to wake Sinistra up. "I mean it: I will take it as a personal insult if you let her out of your sight. Hogwarts can't afford to lose another child."  
  
"I give you my word, then." I shrugged.  
  
"This is no joke." Lucas looked too serious for me to shrug it off again. "Granger is, after Potter and you, the most valuable student Hogwarts has. Don't let her go astray."  
  
"Yes, captain." I muttered to myself as Lucas disappeared with the other two. Looking over at the decidedly awkward, and still sniffling Granger I rolled my eyes. It was going to be a long day.  
  
'  
  
"Granger?"  
  
"Yes? Where did the professors go?" She snapped out of her daze.  
  
"After Potter." I waved vaguely towards the door. "We're going back to the castle."  
  
"What about - "  
  
"Sinistra will be fine." I cut her off. "We're going."  
  
She looked like she was going to protest again, but I intercepted it, and grabbed her arm. Dragging her out of the pub, I headed by the quickest route back to Hogwarts. She struggled, but since I was taller and stronger than she was, I easily manhandled her. The kicking was a bit distracting though. After reaching the edge of Hogsmeade, I finally lost my temper, after having had my legs kicked all the way from the Hog's Head, and stopped so abruptly that she bumped into me.  
  
"What the hell is your problem?" I snapped, letting go of her arm.  
  
"You, that's what my problem is!" She snapped back, "Why did you drag me out of the pub like that? I'm perfectly capable of walking by myself!"  
  
"Yes, but we're in a hurry." I breathed very slowly through my nose. Granger was very adept at getting on my sorely tested nerves. She was going to go down in history as the only girl to be the cause of multiple nervous breakdowns, as well as one memorable night spent in the bathroom, vomiting and crying. The last part wasn't something I liked to think about.  
  
"I'm going after Harry." She announced, and turned to walk away.  
  
She got four steps away before I sent her sprawling to the ground with a well-placed tackle. Unorthodox, to be sure, but I hadn't brought my wand and blowing the cover to my secret wasn't something I was too keen on doing. However, I misjudged her weight. I had planned on just knocking her over, but she was lighter than I expected, and I couldn't regain my balance. This resulted in a rather embarrassing situation. I was not prepared to be lying face down in the grubby snow with a rather crushed Granger beneath me.  
  
Severe miscalculation, that.  
  
"Zabini," She said with a very thinly-veiled anger in her voice, "What are you doing?"  
  
"Stopping you from doing something foolish?" I tried.  
  
"By crushing me into a snowdrift? Zabini, that's not logical even to Dumbledore."  
  
"I didn't have my wand, all right? I didn't think you weighed about as much as a handful of feathers." I pushed myself up to avoid breaking any of her bones. "I apologise for crushing you."  
  
"That's fine," Granger rolled her eyes, sounding sarcastic. "Warn me next time, will you? Now I have to go after Harry, alright?"  
  
"No."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You heard me the first time, Granger," I sighed, pulling both of us up, "No. You're not going after Potter."  
  
The change in her was almost instantaneous. She snarled like a cat, but she moved like a lion, spinning around and heading for the edge of the Forest closest to us. I barely caught her arm in time. She struggled for a while, before giving up realising that I was stronger than her. Apparently she was reluctant to pull a wand on her fellow students.  
  
"Granger," I tried reasoning with her, in my own way, "Potter's gone into the Forbidden Forest. There are things in there that would gladly eat both our livers for breakfast. You're just a girl with a stick in her hand to them. He's got McGonagall, whom I wouldn't want to face down with the rest of my year behind me, he's got Vector, whom, for all her bookishness, is quite fearsome when she lets go of the numerals, and he's got Lucas. Lucas is about as scary as you can get before you turn into a Death Eater. I wouldn't want to see the monster that wouldn't think twice before taking him on. If you go in there, they'll just have another student to worry about."  
  
"Why do you care if I get lost in the Forest?" She was about ready to spit nails. "I can't just leave Harry in there alone!"  
  
"Are you deaf, woman? He's not alone! He's got two of the three most fearsome teachers in there with him, and the third isn't exactly a first year either," I was losing my sorely tested patience. "The worst you can do is go in after him."  
  
She opened her mouth to protest some more, but I snapped. Grabbing her around the waist, I started dragging her physically from the snow-covered street and back to the castle. She froze up like a board at first, allowing me enough time to drag her far enough to stop her protesting. The silence was wonderful, I must say.  
  
The closer we got to the castle, the deeper the snow got. Despite the warm weather, it hadn't started to melt yet, though it was getting hard to walk through. It stuck to my boots and to Granger's robes, which wee dragging through the snow quite liberally, since I hadn't let go yet. She was fuming, but had stopped trying to kick me, which was an improvement. She'd settled for glaring a hole in the side of my scull, even though she had to twist her neck rather uncomfortably to do so. I mostly ignored her.  
  
The celebrating students had abandoned the lake, and had retreated inside the castle, for which I was garetful. We must have been a strange sight, coming up the road from Hogsmeade, a Slytherin dragging a Gryffindor like a rag-doll. It was only when we reached the doors of the castle that I let her down again.  
  
"There," I said. "Minimum amount of fuss, wouldn't you say?"  
  
"What are you playing at, Zabini?"  
  
Ouch. Suspicion. Damage control. Or not, depending.  
  
"What do you mean?" I asked, testing the waters.  
  
"Why did you drag me all the way here? You don't give a rotten fig is I get lost in the Forest." She crossed her arms over her chest.  
  
"Yes, I do. I'm not so morbid that I take pleasure from imagining your death, believe me." I told her. "There's also the part where Lucas promised to behead me if I let you get away into the Forest, and I'm not too keen on finding out whether he means it or not."  
  
Granger gaped at me like a fool. The fury burned in her eyes, a promise of future pain if I didn't run very, very fast and very, very far. But, being a suicidal fool, I stayed. I was taller and stronger than Granger, and if she tried magic on me, I'd just wait until she had her back turned, and break the hexes. Hopefully, my magic was controlled enough for that. Otherwise, I was in quite a bad fix. I prayed to myself and any deity that might listen, that she wouldn't consider using magic on me. I was walking thin ice by now.  
  
"Is there no way you will let me go into that Forest?" Her tone turned pleading.  
  
"No. Not if Merlin ordered me to."  
  
"Not even if you go with me?"  
  
"And have five lost students instead of three? Granger, don't ever take me for a fool again."  
  
"And I suppose saying please isn't going to get me anywhere but the town called embarrassment."  
  
"It's a town?"  
  
Her plan of making me let her go wasn't going anywhere, so she collapsed on the steps to the school, and looked generally miserable. Having nothing better to do, I sat down some steps away. Granger didn't say a word, and I saw no reason to start a conversation. I turned my attention to the lake and the edge of the Forbidden Forest instead. Something was happening there; just beyond the trees, I could see shapes moving around, though it was too far to make out what they were. But something had angered the denizens of the Forest. It was fairly boiling underneath. Distantly, I wondered how Potter, Brown and Patil were doing. Hopefully, Lucas and the others would reach them in time.  
  
God forbid what would happen if they didn't.  
  
Granger got up and started pacing in front of me, never letting her eyes leave the Forest. She was holding her wand so tightly her knuckles had turned white, and her hands shook. Not that I could blame her. Had it been Millicent, or Agnes, or anyone else I trusted that much in the Forest, not even Dumbledore would have been able to keep me from finding them. Thank goodness for Gryffindor honour and obedience. I had to admire her self- control. I'd have been screaming a long time ago.  
  
Our vigil dragged on for what seemed an eternity, time ticking slowly by. Soon enough, even my hands began to itch, and it was only by severe checking that I kept sitting down. We must have been sitting there for at least an hour and a half, because I could no longer feel my fingers and my toes when Lucas emerged from the Forest, followed by the rest. I was on my feet faster than I thought possible, catching Granger as her legs gave way, staring at Lucas in horror.  
  
Beside him, Levitated and hanging like a rag-doll, was Harry Potter.  
  
Granger fought to get free, but I wouldn't let go. She clawed at my arms, drawing blood and cursing me until she choked on her tears, but I didn't let go. If I did, she would have slipped on the ice and fallen and bashed herself senseless in the process. McGonagall and Vector came out after Lucas, each one leading one of the missing Gryffindor girls. They looked dazed and shaken, had a few scrapes and a few streaks of mud on their clothing, but other than that, seemed no worse for wear. A momentary flash of surprise lanced through me. If that was all they'd gotten, Potter must have done a load of work.  
  
The bleak procession reached the castle rather quickly, and Granger struggled even more to get loose and get to Potter's unconscious body. I still wouldn't let her. Superior strength is a good thing sometimes, even though it earns you scratches and cuts. When I still wouldn't let go, she stopped struggling, but her knees buckled and I had to tighten my hold so that she wouldn't fall. Her shoulders shook and she dropped her wand, gripping my arms so tightly the skin broke.  
  
"Harry!" She tried to shout, but her voice broke.  
  
"He will be fine, Ms Granger," Lucas said wearily, "As fast as I get him to the hospital wing."  
  
"Harry!" She croaked again, crying openly. I never knew Granger was such a spectacular water-hose. "Oh gods, Harry!"  
  
I followed them inside the castle, dragging Granger with me. She seemed to have given up getting free, and just hung like a rag-doll, quite like Potter did. McGonagall and Vector had taken over for Lucas, who was standing in the Entrance Hall looking like he just fought off Cerberus. There was mud on his clothes and twigs and leaves in his hair.  
  
"What happened?" I asked.  
  
"Renegade centaurs happened," Lucas replied. "You can let Ms Granger go now: I'm sure she wants to visit Mr Potter."  
  
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me alone with a crying Hermione Granger. Not something I was used to, and as quickly as I could, I let go of her so that she could stand on her own. Angrily, she wiped her tears away and glared at me. It took all my self-control not to glare back. I knew that if I did, she'd soon enough be clawing my eyes out and not just marking my arms.  
  
"Zabini," She said, "We never speak of this again."  
  
"Yeah," I agreed wholeheartedly. "Let's not." Spending time with Granger while she cried was not something I wanted on my list of merits.  
  
She turned and, like Lucas, walked away, though in a less dignified manner. She turned towards the hospital wing immediately, and started running when she reached the stairs. Going to the hospital wing would be a good idea for me too: looking down on my forearms, I noted the now drying blood and the variety of cuts and scrapes. Who knew Granger had such claws. She'd carved her name on my arms as easily as I had ever carved mine with my fathers razors.  
  
Following Granger a bit more slowly, I made my own way to the infirmary.  
  
'  
  
Potter had woken up when I arrived, and even though he was at the other end of the room, I could hear his rather delirious talking of centaurs and Brown and Patil, and how the centaurs had hurt Firenze. Granger was trying to get him to calm down, but Potter didn't seem to realise he was back in the hospital wing and not in the Forest, and was giving her quite a hard time. I stood by the door, rather lost for what to do, until Pomfrey forced some sedatives down his throat and turned to me.  
  
"Why, pray tell, are your arms red from the elbow down, Mr Zabini?" She asked.  
  
"Because no one has told Granger that nails are vicious weapons to be outlawed." I shrugged. "I'm just looking for bandages."  
  
"Bandages? Nonsense! A quick healing charm will do the trick." Pomfrey said, pulling out her wand.  
  
I looked at my forearms. In some places, Granger's nails had gone rather deep, but the rest of it was just superficial scratches. There really was no need to waste the nurse's energy on a couple of cuts when she had a lot more on her hands. Shaking my head and pushing her helping hands out of the way, I declined the charm.  
  
"They're not very deep, and you've got more important things to take care of. Just point me towards the bandages and I'll be on my way before you know it." I said.  
  
I walked away five minutes later with bandages wrapped around my cuts, looking as if I was wearing a rather worn white shirt beneath my robes. There was bound to be some questions when I came back to the Common Room, but I didn't particularly care at the moment. The deeper cuts were sure to become scars, which would be a useful thing to have if I ever needed to blackmail Granger into anything. Whistling to myself, I walked slowly back to my dorm, deciding that barricading oneself was definitely less volatile to one's health than drinking in Hogsmeade was.  
  
'  
  
Ending Notes: I thought about making this chapter longer, but realised I'd run out of things to write by the end of the eight page. So, here it is folks, chapter 27. 


	28. No Honour Among Thieves

Neither Granger nor I mentioned the crying incident. In fact, we rarely even looked at each other unless it was strictly necessary. My friends' incessant questions about the bandages on my forearms and their apparently desperate need to know where I had been on Valentine's Day kept me busy trying to come up with lies. I could just have told them the truth, that I'd gotten the marks when Granger had a nervous breakdown and cried her little Gryffindor heart out, and then laughed nastily as was every Slytherins right and duty. But I didn't. Somehow, my twisted sense of honour, which rarely made itself heard, had kicked in and kept me from saying anything.  
  
It was an uncomfortable feeling, knowing that I was somehow more loyal to Granger at the moment than I was to my life-long friends.  
  
Defence class was stiff and stilted, since Lucas had decided somewhere in his gnomic mind that seat-arrangements were a good things, and I'd ended up sitting right between Millicent and Granger. Right between a lion and serpent. It was only sheer luck on my part that Granger didn't feel like picking fights, and that Millicent believed my story about sneaking out to the Hog's Head and accidentally being in the middle of a bar-brawl. The atmosphere was tense, that was for sure.  
  
"Good morning class," Lucas greeted us. "Ms Brown and Ms Patil won't be joining us today, since Madam Pomfrey will not let them out of the infirmary. However, at his own insistence, Mr Potter is here, against my own better judgement."  
  
"Sir," Thomas put his hand up, "Will Lavender and Parvati be alright?"  
  
"Yes, Mr Thomas, they will. They were traumatized, but will be perfectly alright with time." Lucas assured him. "I cannot, however, say the same thing for Firenze. He has taken a leave, and all Divination classes will be taken back by Professor Trelawney."  
  
"I almost feel sorry for the old horse," Millicent muttered to me, "What happened to him anyway?"  
  
"He tried to defend the students when the centaurs came," Granger said suddenly, startling both of us, "Lavender and Parvati were the only ones who didn't get away before he was knocked down."  
  
"Brave chap," I muttered to myself. "Deserves a medal, he does."  
  
Granger's head snapped around, and she stared at me in a mixture of horror, shock, and something that would clearly have been amusement on anyone else, but it was hard to tell with her. She must have been thinking about the Slytherin Cross I'd given her. For a split-second, I considered asking her about it, but then I looked away from her and stared at Lucas who had begun talking again. Ignorance was bliss, at least when it came to this situation, and ignoring Granger would only do me good.  
  
"On a lighter note, the Headmaster has received the rather substantial list of names, concerning the Defence Against the Dark Arts exam, and has agreed to let me hold the exam I want for your year." He said. "And you had better start to go over your notes from this class, since the exams are coming up fast. It's almost March, and after that it's only April and May left, before you take your exams in June."  
  
I wondered where we would get those notes from, since the only thing we'd done was duel, at least when I was there. Maybe Millicent had some notes I could borrow. Lucas went on to demonstrate the rather hideous effect the Impedimenta hex had on a defenceless spider, and we dutifully wrote it down. Not that I had any idea why we needed to know it for our exams, but when Lucas told me something, I remembered it, if only because he might spring a test on me later. I wouldn't put it past him.  
  
The lesson ended in short order after Lucas had given us some cryptic advice about the exam, and we trailed out of the classroom. To think about how fast our sixth year had passed was dizzying. It seemed like only yesterday that I had walked around like a miserable ghost in my father's sooty old shirt. And now it was almost over. It was sad, in a way, I reflected as I walked down to the Great Hall. Six years finished meant one year left. After that, I was truly on my own. Others had families to go home to, but I didn't. Come to think of it, I didn't even have anywhere to go this summer.  
  
"What's with you Blaise? You look like your favourite cat died." Millicent asked, trying to keep up with my unconsciously long strides.  
  
"I just remembered I'll be living on the street come summer," I shrugged and slowed down.  
  
"Living on the street?"  
  
"Mother wasn't very happy with me when I came home for Christmas." I explained. I could easily get out of this one and avoid talking about my wandless magic. I wasn't quite ready to talk about it yet. "She's been constantly drunk since Father passed away, and we had a fight that would make the Grindelwald war seem like a friendly spat between neighbours. She kicked me out."  
  
"She kicked you out?" Millicent asked, clearly shocked. "But why?"  
  
"I don't really know. She wasn't very coherent." I admitted. "Something about blaming me for being such a freak. Apparently I'm a shame to the family honour."  
  
"No offence, Blaise, but your mother is one crazy bint." Millicent shook her head. "What happens to your sister now?"  
  
"I don't know," I sighed heavily. "I really don't know, and it's only by not thinking about it that I can keep from storming back there and kidnapping her."  
  
Millicent's only comfort was a hand on my shoulder. I shrugged it off. Gloomy might as well be written on my forehead. Thinking about my sister did not make matters any less gloomy. What I needed was a healthy dose of alcohol. Unfortunately, since the last time I had been drunk I'd traded hats with Granger and spent two hours on a frigid stone-floor, I'd rather not do it again.  
  
'  
  
Feverish was the only word to describe the studying rush that overtook all Hogwarts' students fifth year and above. The fifth years were studying like crazy for the upcoming O.W.L's, the seventh years for N.E.W.T's, and us sixth years for the promised Defence exam. Lucas had been very cryptic, and as one man (or woman, as the case might be) the Slytherin sixth years started reading up at every possible thing we could be tested on. Agnes, the blessed girl, had unearthed the original sixth-year Defence curriculum, which listed all the things a Hogwarts sixth year should know by the end of their year. I couldn't for the life of me remembering ever having studied Japanese burial rituals, or why we should have done so, but it was right there.  
  
At first, we hadn't taken Lucas seriously when he warned us about how little time we had left, and had let days slip away from us, turning into weeks. Sometime in mid-April, we realised we had exactly six weeks left before we took our largest and most difficult exam ever, though it might be outmatched by the N.E.W.T's. The cacophony that went down in the Common Room when that star landed was nothing short of mutinous.  
  
I could thereafter be found, most days, curled up in front of the fire out of uniform, attired in an old t-shirt I'd excavated out of the deep recesses of our wardrobe and a pair of faded and rather ripped jeans, which I'd brought from home. I was quite sure it wasn't my t-shirt, since I couldn't recall buying it and my mother would never buy something like it. It wasn't Draco's, since he'd laughed himself silly at it and wondered where I'd gotten it, and it was much to small to ever have fitted Crabbe and Goyle comfortable even while eleven years old. Besides, I couldn't imagine them wearing this faded old black t-shirt, especially not when the words "Gone crazy. Be back shortly." were written across the chest.  
  
Millicent was getting help from Gaspar to study, and while it would have been a perfect opportunity for them to get further in whatever miserable relationship they had, she was too focused on passing her Defence exams to bother any more. Even Draco, who had mentally prepared himself for never having to pass exams by more than the skin of his teeth, was no longer trading quips and insults with us, but facts and quotations from his Defence notes. We were all going bloody mad, probably from cabin fever, which was why I volunteered to do the coffee and snacks supply-run, as well as drop into the library and get a few more books.  
  
I didn't bother to change into my uniform again, even though if I met a professor, I'd lose House points. Everyone agreed that changing clothes would lose valuable time. Like mentioned, we were stark raving, all of us. Having procured the coffee and snacks and shrunk them to save space, I entered the library to pick up a copy of Woddeley's Occult ABC and Encyclopaedia of Curses. There was almost no one there, but there were distinct holes in the shelves. From the Herbology section, someone had taken about five books in a row, if the size of the hole was any judge. I set off between the shelves, looking for the two books I needed.  
  
I found them, on the shelf just above Granger's searching hands. She was reaching for A History of Sorcery, on the shelf right next to the books I needed. I rolled my eyes. It was just my luck that the books I wanted were right next to the one she wanted. Sometimes, I was convinced the gods were laughing themselves sick at my expense. Walking up be hind her, I snatched my two books and the one she wanted, away from her questing fingertips. She jumped so hard she knocked her scalp into my jaw. I stumbled back at the sudden impact and clutched my poorly abused jaw, wincing in the process.  
  
"That wasn't very nice of you, Granger." I said. "What with me helping you and all."  
  
"I would say I'm sorry, Zabini, but it's your own lousy fault," She snapped, with more backbone than I had expected, "You snuck up on me!"  
  
"Just take your bloody book, and leave off it, will you?" I growled, dumped the book in her hands and walked away fuming. How that girl riled me up was nothing short of amazing at times.  
  
Stomping down the corridors angrily, clutching the books, I ran into Lucas coming the other way. My nose would have connected rather painfully with his face if he hadn't had such quick reflexes. I stumbled to a stop and started to a apologise, before I realised Lucas was staring at my chest in utter shock. I'd never seen that expression on him before, nor had he ever stared at my chest, so I shut up rather quickly.  
  
"Where did you find that shirt?" He asked, completely ignorant of the fact that I had just run into him.  
  
"So far back in our the wardrobe in our dorm that small tribes of sentient pygmy dust-bunnies greeted me when I arrived." I exaggerated.  
  
"That's my shirt, that is." He said, ignoring my dubious claims. "I got it from a lost and found stand in the London Underground when I was fifteen."  
  
"This T-shirt is older than I am. How pleasant." I grumbled. "If you don't mind, I've got a bad case of multiple exams to study for, and I'd like to get some of it out of the way before I turn thirty."  
  
I left him standing there, muttering to himself, as I headed down to the Common Room once more. The thought of having spent the last three weeks wearing my less than sane Defence professor's ancient t-shirt was rather revolting. Not that I disliked the man too much: he was merely moderately annoying, but wearing a t-shirt older than I was, having been found in the London Underground and left at the back of a dusty wardrobe for more than ten years was disgusting.  
  
Millicent held out her hand demandingly when I entered, and I dropped a chocolate chip cookie and Woddeley's Occult ABC in her hands. I claimed Encyclopaedia of Curses for myself, and settled back down in the worn armchair. The studying went on in relative silence, broken only by Draco sometimes rattling off the ingredients to some obscure potion, or Pansy reciting the location and specifics of a plant. I was deep in my book, reading about a Burning Curse invented by an Arabian wizard in the third century, not noticing that time dragged on.  
  
I fell asleep in the armchair that night. Most of us didn't make it to the dormitory. My dreams were a jumble of curses and books and holes in the shelves, of Granger knocking her head in my jaw and Lucas wearing the t- shirt he claimed as his. The scene with Granger in the library replayed itself several times for some reason, but the last time was most disturbing. Then she was wearing the t-shirt, and instead of knocking into my jaw, she hugged me. I woke up rather quickly after that.  
  
It was by now the beginning of May, and the weather was warming up. It was unusually warm, even for May, and the only place to take refuge were our dungeons. No sunlight got in, and though it was shaping up to be the hottest summer in living memory, we weren't too bothered. The Gryffindors though, whose tower was constantly in the sun, were claiming they'd die of heat before exams. I'd even heard Potter and Weasley try to use it as an excuse to skip studying. Imbeciles.  
  
I dragged myself up from the dungeons to breakfast that morning, a crick in my neck the size of Atlantis. Breakfast and a large cup of coffee sounded like a wonderful idea at the moment. My head was pounding for no particular reason, but the heat might have had something to do with it. Constant studying might be part of it too, but it wasn't as if I could avoid it. In fact, for everyone but Granger, it was a necessity.  
  
Lucas was at breakfast, which was a surprise. He was looking preoccupied with something, which wasn't one. The rest of the Hogwarts alumni, fifth year and up were looking as if they'd foregone sleep the past few weeks. Which was more or less what they had done. Everyone was dreading the exam, except Granger, who but for the rings under her eyes would almost merit the description "cheerful". Disgusting that girl was, at least when it came to studying.  
  
"It's only three weeks left till exams now," A hollow-eyes Draco said, "And after that, it's only a week and a half left of the term. Wonderful, isn't it?"  
  
"If we can live that long," Millicent grumbled. "Sleep deprivation causes temporary insanity, you know, and if Blaise goes insane he's bound to throw himself off the Astronomy Tower."  
  
"I haven't yet," I pointed out.  
  
"It's only a matter of time, boy," The normally cheerful Pansy said gloomily. "It's only a matter of time."  
  
I snorted at her claims. While I was certainly crazy, and the frantic studying hadn't made it any better, I wasn't about to commit suicide. I wouldn't ever be able to see the look on Lucas' face if I passed the exams, or McGonagall's, when I tackled her tests easily, for one thing. Drinking my coffee, I tore my bleary eyes from the table-top and looked out over the Great Hall again. Potter had fallen asleep on his breakfast cereal, which should prove for some entertainment when he woke up. The Ravenclaws looked about half as dead as we Slytherins did, which meant they looked like they'd been dead for a week and a half. The only ones who didn't look half- way dead were the Hufflepuffs, maybe because so few of them were in the Defence class any more, and didn't have to worry as much.  
  
We sleepwalked through out classes that day. The professors seemed to know better than to ask us questions, and instead droned through their lectures slowly, and let us off early. My head was fairly buzzing with incantations, wand-gestures and complex mathematics as I sought the refuge of my well- worn armchair again. I was much too tired to move, to it looked like another night in the armchair, with only my mind for company. It was a nice old chair, with a rather bad ink sketch of a snake on one arm. I rather liked it. Everyone else were off somewhere, doing Merlin knows what. Hopefully, Gaspar would wake up some day soon and realise Millicent's stares weren't because he'd forgotten to shave. He truly was a stupid blighter at times.  
  
Their little crusade to get me a girlfriend seemed to have lost its appeal after Lucas announced the exams were due, thankfully. Independent as I was, the idea of my friends shopping for a girlfriend for me was more than a little uncomfortable. Besides, when I tried to picture the currently available girls at Hogwarts, they ended up being sorted into categories, none of them appealing. Some were inexcusably stupid, some were too vain, while some were too studious. There was no problems with studying, as I saw it, but some of the girls studied like it was the week before the N.E.W.T's constantly. Strangely enough, Granger wasn't part of that crowd. I'd even seen her reading for pleasure once or twice, something the overly studious never did.  
  
The rest of them were just not noticeable to me, since I couldn't for the life of me remember what, for example, Hannah Abbott looked like. It wasn't that I was forgetful, just that I ignored her so much her face hadn't stuck in my memory. Granger on the other hand, while I disliked her greatly at times, stuck in my mind like marrow in a bone.  
  
Millicent had been right, it seemed: sleep deprivation really did cause insanity. I would never have been contemplating the girls of Hogwarts otherwise. Especially not Granger.  
  
I curled up tighter and closed my eyes. I would have fallen asleep if it hadn't been for Cain, who came sneaking down the stairs as quietly as he could. Being a clumsy, eleven-year-old boy, it wasn't very quiet. I opened my eyes again and stared at him, too tired to ask the question, but too awake to ignore him.  
  
"Couldn't sleep," He informs me quietly. "Everyone's so jumpy, and some of them snore."  
  
"And you came to wake me up?" I asked grumpily. "Fine plan that, Cain."  
  
"You shouldn't be sleeping down here anyway," He went on, ignoring me. "You won't be able to walk in the morning. And Theo will laugh at you when he comes back from Agnes."  
  
"Theo's in Agnes bed?" My eyes nearly popped out of my scull at that revelation, and I resisted the urge to pinch my own arm as Cain nodded. "That boy surely moves fast."  
  
"They're just sleeping," Cain shook his head. "Theo said it helps his nightmares. I eavesdropped."  
  
"No honour among Slytherins, eh?" I chuckled, my voice sounding rusty.  
  
"No honour among thieves," Cain corrected me, "No heroes among Slytherins."  
  
"Sounds about right." I agreed. "If I had anything to drink, I'd drink to that."  
  
He sat down on the couch, and I kept sitting in the armchair, too tired to move. No heroes among Slytherins. I liked the sound of it, and went back to sleep with the words ringing in my head like bells.  
  
'  
  
Ending Notes: Shorter chapter this time, and we're getting closer and closer to the end of sixth year. Don't worry, we're only halfway through Ascent. There's a lot of plot-strands to be resolved, and after that's there's the third part of the trilogy left. Oh, and anyone who can tell me where I just ripped the armchair from gets an imaginary cookie. 


	29. Pasta and Fried Things

Exam week. The words hung in the air exactly the way bricks didn't. The Slytherin House had levelled out on a kind of constant studying-phase, though not as frantic any more. I could now recite every hex, spell and curse we'd learned in six years and even some that we hadn't. Millicent could name every section of Whimperton's Sequence of Transfiguration word- perfect. Draco sometimes spouted mathematics in his sleep, and he wasn't even taking Arithmancy.  
  
We were, in short, as ready for the exams as we ever would be.  
  
The first exam for me was Arithmancy. I was there well before anyone else, sat in one of the arranged seats and tried not to sweat ice. Hopefully, despite having mostly crammed Defence into my head, I'd be able to remember some of the mathematics I'd learned over the years. Draco's sleeping mutters might have helped some. The second person to walk in was Granger. Despite our battles, she gave me a weak smile, perhaps to try and apologise for having scarred my arms, and settled down near the front of the classroom.  
  
The classroom slowly filled, and Vector walked in, looking criminally happy. Really, it should be illegal to look that happy on an exam week. She greeted us with a happy good morning and put the parchments down in front of us. The clock started ticking, and the exam week had begun in earnest. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, opened them again and started writing. It was easier than I had imagined. As soon as I got the hang of how to do it, it was a walk in the park. Albeit a park with nasty rakes hidden in the lawns.  
  
Two hours and twenty-eight minutes later, I walked out of the classroom, three minutes after Granger left. She and I were the last ones in the classroom. We had had a bit of an endurance-race of our own during the last twenty minutes, checking and re-checking our answers till Vector threw us out. She had been smiling though, which was severely disconcerting. I hate it when teachers smile at me. They always think they know something I don't.  
  
Granger looked happy, but tired. There were dark rings under her eyes. Her hands trembled. Excessive studying, with a dosage of worrying over Potter, I analysed. Wasn't good that. For a split-second I was angry at Weasley for not knocking her out when she studied so much. And still, looking more tired and worn out than I could remember seeing her, she had done at least as good a job at her exam as I had. Though it was grudgingly, some respect for Granger sparked in my miserably cluttered mind.  
  
My next exam was Charms, but I had two hours free in which to eat, sleep, do some last minute studying and go frantic worrying. Today's lunch was some kind of unidentifiable fried things on a plate, with spaghetti. It didn't taste bad at all, but I would have felt better if I knew what it was. Correction, I would have felt less suspicious if I knew what it was. I was already trying not to throw up, thinking about the written Charms exam. While being very good at the practical end of Charms, the theoretical part was sort of my weak point. The theoretical end of most things, when it came down to it, which was why I'd had such doubts about Arithmancy.  
  
Too bad our practical exams, excluding Defence, were all put up for tomorrow. I chewed on the Fried-Things nervously, and reflected that today would have been a good day to stay in bed. Or even in the hospital wing.  
  
"Break a leg on the exam, Blaise," Millicent wished me.  
  
"I hope I won't break anything else," I sincerely expressed.  
  
'  
  
If someone had told me after my first Charms lesson that Professor Flitwick was frightening, I would have laughed at them. The little man was perpetually cheerful, and so tiny, and so utterly nice, that the thought of him as scary was just laughable. If someone had told me so just before my exam, I would have gone all "raised-eyebrow-y" on them and snorted my perfected Slytherin snort.  
  
But, sitting there with my exam in front of me, looking at the tiny old man, I couldn't find any other word but frightening to describe him. How the man could possibly smile that much when he had just handed us the thickest wad of parchment I had seen since I was three feet high was a mystery. It was nothing short of the most gruelling written exam I had ever been through. The O.W.L's were nothing on this.  
  
1.Who was the much famed inventor of the Ventus-spell?  
  
2.Name three of the spell's properties.  
  
3. If confronted with the Venomous Tentacula, which spell would be the simplest way to dispatch any danger caused by it?  
  
And so on, filling all too many pages for my liking. How the heck should I know the best way to dispatch Venomous Tentaculas? What if what they really wanted was a one-way ticket to Bahamas? Grumbling quietly under my breath, I started filling in all the questions I was certain of the answer to, and decided to go back to the rest of them when I had gone through the test once.  
  
Next to me, I could hear Millicent humming some melody she'd come up with to teach her some basic Latin during the studying weeks, and smiled against my will. Trust her to come up with some crazy way to remember things. She was so much like me at times that it was frightening. In front of me, Granger was scribbling furiously on her paper, making me wonder if she made any spaces between the words, or if she'd just learned a special short-hand which Flitwick could read too. It wasn't impossible.  
  
I answered as many of the questions as I could before handing in the exam. Still, I was one of the first to leave the classroom, and felt rather bad about it. It was our last exam for the day, since both Transfiguration tests were tomorrow, and Defence the day after that. We didn't have a written part in Defence this year: I'd specifically asked Lucas about it, and all he had said was that we'd get a practical test, for us to prove how much we'd really learned. Despite my frantic studying, I was worried about what it might be. Knowing Lucas like I thought I did, he'd throw us to the wolves and then have a mighty good time watching us trying to keep our heads above the pandemonium.  
  
Opting to escape out into the open air for a while, I ducked out in a courtyard and sat down on one of the stone benches. The sun was shining, which wasn't too strange. Calculating quickly in my head, I realised we had only three weeks left to summer break. Funny how fast time seemed to have gone since Christmas. It seemed to have just disappeared. From Christmas break to Valentine's Day had been some kind of zombie-like trance, while Valentine's Day and forward had been routine. From the announcement of our Defence exam, there had been a constant state of work, and then the exams turned up just after I realised I didn't have anywhere to go for the summer.  
  
Turning my thoughts from time to the summer, I tried to think of places I could stay. Parkinson's were out of the question, since there was no way Pansy's mother would suffer a disowned boy in her household, even if both Pansy and her father insisted. The Malfoy residence, for all that Narcissa tried to keep appearances up, was a broken home, and if I stayed there, people would be watching every step I took. The Bulstrode's, for all that Millicent was one of my best friends, didn't like me any more than Harry Potter did. And to belabour any other of my friends with my all other than sane presence was out of the question. A room in Diagon Alley was, so far, my only option, since I didn't like the thought of having to fly across the English Channel again.  
  
The sun had sunk considerably when I came back to reality once more. From the loud noises of my stomach, it was just about time for dinner. I got up and walked swiftly to the Great Hall. Maybe there were still some Fried- Things left. If there wasn't, I'd have to make do with shepherd's pie and mashed potatoes, which definitely weren't my favourite. For all her other shortcomings, my mother's cooking was excellent, and my mouth still watered at the thought of any of the dishes she made. Except broccoli. I couldn't stand broccoli.  
  
Well in front of the Great Hall, I remembered that the O.W.L's were still under way, and I'd have to eat in the kitchen if I wanted dinner. Grumbling and trying to silence my stomach, I set out on the rather lengthy walk to the kitchens. On the way there, I tried to imagine what kind of food I'd pick to eat. The possibilities were endless: pasta, mashed potatoes, friend potatoes, rice, chicken, beef, ham, puddings, anything the House Elves could cook up quickly. Tickling the pear when I arrived, I stepped into a kitchen more crowded than usual.  
  
Millicent, looking like she'd just run a marathon through the Forbidden Forest, struggled through the crowd of Elves and students to get to me. I could spot Draco and Pansy eating some pasta dish with sauce over by the wall, Potter was miming some kind of Quidditch move to a bored-looking Hermione Granger, who was chewing on what looked suspiciously like the Fried-Things I'd been after. Millicent herself had a plate of sandwiches, held high to avoid bumping into anyone.  
  
"Blaise, you miserable little git, where the heck have you been?" She snapped, albeit good-naturedly at me. "We've been looking all over for you."  
  
"I was in some random courtyard," I shrugged, "I needed some time to think. Are those sandwiches for me?"  
  
"Naturally: one of the House Elves, Dobby I think he called himself, suggested I'd try peanut butter. Said he got it from some cookbook Dumbledore gave him." Millicent nodded. "It's quite good actually."  
  
"Hmm." I replied, chewing on one of the sandwiches. "How did Charms go?"  
  
"I couldn't remember who invented the Ventus spell," Millicent shrugged, "And there were a few others that I missed, but otherwise it wasn't too bad. You?"  
  
"I didn't know which spell to use on a Venomous Tentacula, so I chanced wildly." I told her as we made our way through the crowd to Draco and Pansy. "How were we supposed to know that, anyway?"  
  
"I think it was just so that Flitwick could see how well we could reason in an unfamiliar situation," She said.  
  
"Bloody annoying it was," I said. "How did your exams go? Care of Magical Creatures, wasn't it?"  
  
"Yeah." Draco grinned. "It was fun watching that fire-breathing chicken the oaf brought nearly incinerate Weasley."  
  
"Fire breathing chickens?" I asked, chewing on my sandwich and not caring that I was being rude, "Isn't breeding for new species illegal?"  
  
"Laws never stopped that stupid oaf before, did they?" Pansy pointed out.  
  
"It wasn't Hagrid!" Potter snapped from the next table. "Don't you talk that way about him!"  
  
"Lay off it, Harry," Granger sighed heavily. "It's not like they haven't said it before."  
  
"But- but - "Potter sputtered.  
  
"Just don't, alright? I don't want to have to visit you in the infirmary again." Granger looked at him in desperation. "You've done so well this year, and only been there once. Please don't wind up there again?"  
  
I had to stop myself from chuckling at her tone. She sounded just like a mother speaking to a troublesome child – right after they'd asked if all flames were as hot as the one they'd burned their fingers on. It was hilarious that someone could talk down to Potter like that and get away with it. I gestured with a half-eaten peanut butter sandwich at the two Gryffindors.  
  
"Granger's right, Potter. We really shouldn't bother to argue. It's too early for petty rivalries. Sandwich?" I said, just to irk him. It was so much fun watching him try to keep his mouth shut.  
  
I went to bed still amused that night, though I fell asleep quickly. Mocking Potter, which was what I had done until Granger looked like she would kill me, was a lot of fun. I could completely understand why Draco did it all the time. As I drifted off to sleep, the last image in my mind was that of Granger's face: half-disapproving, but trying her damnedest not to laugh when I inquired whether Potter intended to use Expalliarmus next time he ran into a Venomous Tentacula. It had seemed such an obvious question at the time, but the large dosage of spiked Butterbeer might have had something to do with it.  
  
'  
  
Charms practical. Finally, our first practical exam. After Arithmancy, Charms and the Transfiguration written, it was nice to finally be able to wield a wand again. After some quiet practising while alone in the dorm, I'd realised that I could perform all but the most complicated spells, such as Expecto Patronum, without a wand. It was hard to control the force of the spells without a wand though, as I discovered when I tried to light a candle with Incendio and instead lit the drapes of my bed on fire. Draco gave me some weird looks when he came back and found the dorm filled with smoke. I put on my best innocent expression, and probably got away with it.  
  
Despite that I was secure in my knowledge of Charms, my palms were sweaty when Professor Flitwick called me in. We each had to go in and perform the Charms he asked us to do, to show how much we had learned over the year. I was nervous, since my attention in Charms hadn't been the best, and I'd missed quite a few lessons on account of being hospitalised. Flitwick, however, looked immensely pleased when I came into the room.  
  
"Good day, Mr Zabini," He chirped. "If you would please read the instructions on the blackboard, and we will get started immediately."  
  
I read the instructions quickly, wondering for a second whether Flitwick had written them himself, or if he'd needed help. They asked for a couple of different Charms, among others one that could change the temperature of things, make them colder, and one that made them hotter. I was to practice these Charms on a teacup of water. It was surprisingly easy, considering that I had been in the infirmary when we were supposed to learn the Charms. First, I heated the water up until steam rose from the cup, and then froze it so quickly that the china broke.  
  
"Sorry," I mumbled, patching the teacup up again. "Seems I concentrated too hard."  
  
"That's perfectly alright," Flitwick beamed, and I wondered why he was happy I broke his china. "Most people would have used Repairo on that cup, but you didn't. Your Charm was significantly more advanced. I'd say I'll let you off now: please send in Ms Bulstrode."  
  
I did as he asked, but couldn't help feeling like I was in trouble. There was no way the exams were supposed to be that short. I couldn't wait for this day to be over: if these exams were any indication of what the N.E.W.T's would be like, I considered fleeing to Siberia. Tiny grinning professors with teacups should be outlawed.  
  
'  
  
The rest of the day passed in relative calm, though when I had to transfigure my desk into a living animal, it went a bit too well. Thankfully, McGonagall didn't comment as she removed the claw-marks from her walls. A raging tigress wasn't what I had intended, but once more, I lost a little bit of the control I had over my magic, and was a bit too enthusiastic in the transfiguration. She assured me that it was perfectly alright, just as Flitwick had done, which made me suspect the two had talked in between exams. There was something strange about McGonagall not caring that because of me, several of her personal possessions were ruined.  
  
Something was off. Little alarm-bells went off in my head when McGonagall attempted a tight smile in my direction. It was time to go an interrogate Lucas.  
  
Crazy Defence professors always have some quirky habit. Quirrel, Merlin rest his miserable soul, used to talk to his iguana. In class. Lockhart was obsessed with himself, and talked about his adventures to anyone who would listen. Lupin, other than growing a lot more hair once a month, was addicted to chocolate. Mad-Eye shouted "Constant vigilance!" every time he turned a corner in the hallways. Umbridge had her frills and ugly bows, and the annoying habit of passing Educational Decrees to left and right. Lucas' quirky habit turned out to be eating chocolate, just like Lupin, but instead of drinking it, or eating bars of it from Honeydukes, Lucas lined them up on his desk and fired small hexes at them. The the pieces started smoking, or burned with a bright blue flame for a moment, or just exploded in a million tiny fragments, before I popped them in his mouth and continued grading. I had to stop myself from laughing before I cleared my throat.  
  
"Zabini? Come on in," Lucas seemed awfully happy, although he stayed true to his habits and didn't smile. "Chocolate?"  
  
"Not if you have to kill it first," I said, sitting down in the chair opposite to his desk.  
  
Lucas handed me an unscathed chocolate. I munched on it and took in the sheer volume of parchments stacked on his desk. It was a very heavy desk: the desk-top was made of oak, and it was two inches thick, but it looked as if it was bending underneath the weight of what I guessed were exams. Lucas returned to one of the tests, red-inked quill held high, and finished marking it. I swore I heard him snigger once.  
  
"What put you in such a happy mood?" I asked.  
  
"Failing grades," He looked up from the next essay. "You won't believe how many fourth years missed the answer on the question about vampire's. They've been reading too much Muggle literature: one of them even believed the most famous vampire of all times were named Lestat de Lioncourt. Ignorant, the lot of them."  
  
"I suppose."  
  
"Red ink looks rather uplifting on an exam parchment." He commented. "Severus really was right about grading. It's as fun as you make it, and if you're in the right frame of mind, there is nothing more hilarious than a failing grade."  
  
"You're weird, mister," I shook my head. "But I didn't come here to talk about grading."  
  
"And I'm sure it wasn't because of the pleasure of my company either," Lucas reasoned.  
  
"It's about Flitwick and McGonagall, really." I said, and Lucas raised his eyebrow. "I made a teacup explode in my Charms exam today, and all Flitwick did was grin, replace it and shoo me out. I turned a desk into a rather unhappy tigress in my Transfiguration practical, and all McGonagall did was patch up the walls and send me out."  
  
"A lot of students have mishaps during exams." Lucas pointed out.  
  
"She smiled at me." I said dully. "McGonagall never smiles at me. In fact, if both of us were trapped in a burning house, she'd get the china out before she helped me."  
  
"No. She'd get you out right after she'd gotten her carpet slippers," Lucas snorted softly. "But Minerva McGonagall is a woman with strong views, and she wouldn't smile at you after destroying her office."  
  
"But she did."  
  
"And you rightly demand an explanation," Lucas nodded thoughtfully. "While I don't know honestly what possessed her to smile at you, I can give the most plausible suspicion."  
  
"Do so." I ordered.  
  
"Dumbledore, for all that he is a fearsome and intimidating man, seems to find amusement in keeping secrets." Lucas started in his usual, roundabout way. "I was, obviously, well aware of your father's death, but the other teachers weren't. McGonagall, for one, thought you were being juvenile, while Vector theorised you suffered from what she termed teen angst. Ignorant, the lot of them, just like the fourth years, but Dumbledore kept his peace. At the beginning of the week, McGonagall remarked that you looked like you'd been dead for months, and Dumbledore finally decided to tell them. I've never seen Eos swear that much. Poppy seemed to be on the verge of crying, but your father always was one of her favourite students. I believe that McGonagall's attempt to be nice to you today may be a reaction to that information."  
  
"Hmm." Was all I said. Well, that would explain it. There was no way that McGonagall would smile at me if the situation wasn't extreme. "It seems plausible, like you said. Well, that was all I wanted to know, so I'll go now."  
  
"Don't bring your wand tomorrow." He called as I opened the door. I shut the door again, and turned around.  
  
"Why not?" I asked suspiciously.  
  
"Because you won't need it, and because I wish to test your current limits in wandless magic," Lucas said, his tone indicating it should have been obvious and that I was acting like a dunderhead.  
  
"Fine." I said after a while. He must know I hadn't told anyone, so he wouldn't tell me to leave my wand unless I wasn't going to blow my carefully erected cover. "But only because I'm feeling nice today."  
  
Lucas just popped another massacred chocolate in his mouth and looked at me serenely. If his eyes hadn't been red, and he hadn't looked to be not one day over thirty, I would have sworn he looked like Dumbledore with a lemon drop. It was eerie.  
  
Snorting quietly to myself, I made the long trek down all the stairs to my dorm, intent to sleep as much as I could before the most frightening exam I had had to date.  
  
'  
  
Ending Notes: And the Defence exam rolls around. Soon, sixth year will be ended, and I'll only have about ten chapters (rolls eyes) to go on this monster. 


	30. Into the Woods

Like I'd promised Lucas, I left my wand under my pillow. As to prevent suspicion from my friends and everyone else, I instead put a stick in my pocket, which I'd found in the courtyard after the Charms written. Gaspar, with rings under his eyes from N.E.W.T-overdosing, wished us luck as we went.  
  
Millicent was nervous, I could tell, even if she kept up an impressive straight face and wasn't nearly as pale as she should have been. But anyone would have been nervous to the point of hysteria when being put through an unknown, unprepared practical exam, held by a teacher generally considered stark raving loony, even by Hogwarts' standards. Her knuckles were white, that was how hard she gripped her wand. I tried my best to look comforting and patted her on the shoulder as he climbed the stairs to the Defence classroom. She gave me a brave smile. Should have been Sorted into Gryffindor, if it hadn't been for her inborn sneakiness.  
  
Well at the Defence classroom, we were greeted by a note tacked to the locked door, stating simply that Lucas expected us all down at Hagrid's cabin ten minutes ago. I blinked, red the note again, but it still stated, in black ink on some left-over Muggle paper, that we should have been there ten minutes ago, regardless of when we arrived at the classroom. Muttering to myself about head-case teachers and Muggle paper, Millicent and I headed down and out of the castle.  
  
We weren't the first to arrive: I had long since figured out that it was physically impossible to turn up for a lesson earlier than Hermione Granger. The only time I had was for the Arithmancy exam, and one or two lessons. In six years. And all of those times she'd been detained by illness, rain of frogs, Voldemort and unexpected swamps. At any other given moment, Granger's default state of being was early for class. This time, she had both Potter and Weasley with her, who hovered over her shoulders like a pair of over-grown vultures. Boot and Patil had turned up, as had Bones. She stood at the edge of the small group, leaning against a fence and twirled her wand absently. She looked bored.  
  
Lucas himself was standing behind a table, filled with what looked like bubbles, each one a different colour. They rose and swirled by command of his hands, and he looked like a particularly demented conductor. He nodded absently when we arrived, before going back to his vibrant bubbles. Every day, that main gained new eccentric habits. I settled down on the grass, not caring about the strange looks I got from the others, since they were all standing. Silly buggers: I wasn't about to stand around for the hour it took for Lucas to get to the point. I didn't get to sit for too long though. Longbottom and the last few stragglers arrived, out of breath and red-faced, and Lucas actually started talking as soon as they'd caught their breaths.  
  
"Welcome." He said, turning his attention from the bubbles. "I hope you're all prepared for you exam? Good. I won't ask you to face your fears, but since Mr Longbottom's greatest fear is his Potion's professor in a hat and a handbag, I don't think this will be a particular problem. You will be paired up for this exam, and no, Mr Potter, you will not be allowed to choose your partners," Potter's expression turned disappointed and a little sullen. "You have all been very curious about today, no doubt. You might also wonder why you only have a single exam today, and not only because you might already be finished with the others. It's rather simple."  
  
He gestured to the rather imposing forest behind him. Even in the bright light of a summer morning, it looked somewhat dark and sinister. I shuddered. There was a good reason it was called the Forbidden Forest, after all.  
  
"Around the perimeter of the Forest, a protective barrier has been set up. The main hold-up for this exam has been to gain the Headmaster's permission, since he believed you would be in terrible, mortal danger if you went through it. But, the protective barrier, the constant watch that will be kept, and the team of Healers and extraction wizards standing by to help if something goes wrong will ensure that you all survive. Most of you without a scratch, and you will come out bleeding only if you aren't careful. Or if you're ignorant," He added, and I wasn't sure if he'd realised that the expressions on his students' faces was sheer terror. "But that won't be a problem for any of you."  
  
"Professor?" Longbottom's voice was quaking as he raised his hand.  
  
"Yes, Longbottom?" Lucas replied, for a moment brought back from his plans of revenge on ignorant fourth years.  
  
"What exactly are we going to do?"  
  
"Why, you're going into the Forest, of course." He looked surprised we hadn't guessed it yet. "It has been sectioned up, and you will be put, in pairs, in each of the sections. Further instructions will be given upon your arrival. Any questions? And I will not accept questions of the ´You can't do this to us, Professor!´ and ´This is cruel! We haven't been able to prepare!´ variety. The whole point of the exam is for it to be unprepared."  
  
I raised my hand slowly, trying to hold onto my temper.  
  
"Yes, Mr Zabini?" He nodded.  
  
"May I have a word with you in private, Professor?" I asked, fighting to keep my voice calm.  
  
"Of course." He nodded again, deliberately ignoring the curious stares of my classmates.  
  
As soon as we were out of earshot of the other students, I spun around and faced him, not knowing where to start, how to keep myself from screaming at him, or to keep from strangling him. He was about to send me into the most dangerous forest in England, probably in Europe, along with someone who probably wouldn't be deaf, dumb and blind, and he expected me to accept this and use wandless magic as well. Rage was too light a word.  
  
"Are you mad?" I enquired heatedly.  
  
"Quite," He agreed cordially, "But I fail to see what this has to do with the conversation."  
  
"You're about to send me into the Forbidden Forest! I'd say that counts for something!" I was almost shouting. "But I'm not even going to bother arguing that point. You know I've kept my wandless magic a secret. I haven't even told Millie, for Merlin's sake! And now you want to dump me in the most dangerous forests of all time, with someone I don't know very well, and you want me to just blow my bloody secret wide open! I think I have a pretty good cause to call you crazy!"  
  
"All very sane arguments, I'm sure." He agreed once more. "But I am, officially, in charge of your special training, and therefore, I'm going to pull rank on you, both as a professor and as a technical superior, and I'm going to order you to do this. No matter who you end up with in there, there'll be more than one opportunity to try out your magic. You'll need to. If whoever it is becomes too hysterical, or is likely to leak, there's this handy spell called Obliviate, which is quite useful."  
  
"You can't use that without explicit Ministry permission," I pointed out, only slightly mollified.  
  
"I once blasted a hole in the wall of Gringotts and stole a dragon. Why should I give a damn about Ministry permission?" He pointed out logically. It was the first time I could remember hearing him curse.  
  
"You'll have to tell me how to do that some time, but that's not the point. I don't like flaunting something like this." I said weakly, but not quite ready to go down without a fight. One look in Lucas' eye told me that fighting was as pointless as rolling a ball up a steep hill. Sighing heavily, I gave in. "Fine. If you weren't my professor, I'd strangle you for being so aggravating." I threatened half-heartedly. "Just do me a favour? Don't pair me up with Longbottom, or I can't promise he'll come out of there alive."  
  
He sent me back with what could only have been a Lucas-brand chuckle. It sounded somewhat like the croaking of a raven. Muttering to myself, which I seemed to do often lately, I walked back to stand next to Millicent. Today wasn't a very good day. Millicent and everyone else gave me rather curious looks when I came back looking like a thundercloud, but didn't say anything. Lucas came wandering back with a vague look of amusement on his face, and I was momentarily reminded of his habit of eating chocolate, but only after killing it.  
  
"You will be Portkeyed to your section as soon as I have finished talking," He took up just where he left off. "You won't know who you have ended up doing the exam with until you arrive. All I have left to say if good luck."  
  
We were all supposed to pick up one of a variety of items on a table. I snatched a black pebble, and felt the all too familiar tug of a Portkey. When I was younger, about ten, my father would sometimes take me out on shopping trips or just regular walks in remote parts of mountains or forests, and since I wasn't able to Apparate, and only a few, powerful individuals could tandem-Apparate further than ten feet, we'd use Portkeys. After the initial wave of nausea, I'd always be horribly happy. I wonder where that feeling went?  
  
'''''''''  
  
The Forbidden Forest was dark. It was so dark that I had to sit staring at the ground for a few minutes before my eyes accustomed themselves to the lack of light. Breathing was more difficult than it was outside the forest: the air between the trees was musty and felt old, somehow. When I realised I was sitting in a rather thorny hedge, I quickly got up and tried to see who else had ended up in the godforsaken forest with me. For a wild second of hope, I thought I'd ended up there alone, but then I spotted a pair of shoes, sticking out from underneath a black cloak, and my hopes were crushed.  
  
The cloak was tangled in the same kind of thorny bush I had landed in, though the owner of it was at least moving their feet, so I could tell whoever it was was alive. It was a very small someone, so my initial guess was that it was Bones, or perhaps Longbottom, who was quite small. Since the owner of the shoes and cloak wasn't getting up, I decided to, in a fit of rarely seen nobility, help out. I walked towards the tangled cloak, already a hand out to help. I caught hold of the person's shoulders and hauled, not bother to check if said person was conscious or not. She, and I had noticed that it was a girl since no male in the Defence class had such skinny shoulders, was lighter than I had thought, and as a result I nearly fell over trying to help her up.  
  
Fortunately, there was a rather sturdy tree just behind me, and I only stumbled before bracing himself on it. However, the girl, possibly having realised someone was pulling at her shoulders, pushed back, and ended up with her face pressing against my neck. That was certainly not what I had intended, and I stood frozen for a moment, before she found her voice.  
  
"Letting go would be a wonderful option at the moment," She commented drily.  
  
My eyes widened and I let go as if I had been burned when my ears and my brain recognised it as Granger's voice.  
  
"Sorry. Lost my balance there for a moment," I said evasively, trying to pretend I hadn't just apologised to Granger of all people.  
  
"Fine." She shrugged and pretended nothing had happened. "Any sign of further instructions?"  
  
"I only came to some minute ago, so no," I said, inspecting our rather dreary surroundings. "Any idea where we might find them?"  
  
"This is only my second time in here," She muttered, pulling her wand out of her pocket, "The last time was when I was eleven and terrified. Memory serves that other than trees, vicious plants and the occasional magical beast, there isn't very much in here by way of information."  
  
"Point," I mumbled, quietly agreeing with her. There was nothing but thorns, trees and a far-off noise to disturb the loneliness.  
  
"I trust you have all arrived at your assigned locations?" Lucas voice spoke from just behind us.  
  
Granger and I spun around like one person, and looked behind us. A small blue bubble, about the size of a Golden Snitch, hovered in the musty air. I recognised it as one of the bubbles Lucas had had on his little table earlier, outside the forest. I stepped closer, and I could feel Granger tensing beside me in shock.  
  
"I believe you all hear me perfectly. If you don't, please send up red sparks and I will fix the problem immediately." If I peered closely, I could even see his rather amused face. "Now, on to the actual instructions. Listen closely, or you will earn me paperwork when I try to explain your sudden demise to the Headmaster. Your objective is to reach the Portkey point, at the centre of the forest. The location of it is individual for each section, and when you reach it, the Portkey will be obvious. Lights will point you in the general direction of it, and should you get too far off course, you will be forcibly turned around."  
  
I broke my concentration for a moment to try to see the light he was speaking of, but I couldn't, and turned back to the bubble.  
  
"You will be graded not on how fast you reach the Portkey point, but on how you reach it." Lucas continued. "The variation of spells you use, your resourcefulness when magic isn't enough, and just how much you remember about how to best handle certain elements around you. Such as how to disable a Kappa, though I doubt there are any in the forest. The bubble will follow you around, so that I can keep a watching eye on you. The race starts now, ladies and gentlemen. I'll see you at the finish."  
  
The Bubble, as I took to referring to it in my mind, twinkled brightly for a second, before turning back to its normal colour. I blinked, and then turned to Granger. She looked just as apprehensive as I felt: the thought of the lengthy trek through the forest to wherever the Portkey point was was enough to make anyone hesitate. I'd hear about Auror exams from my Father once, and he'd said they were something like our task. I hoped to high heaven that we wouldn't have to battle rabid unicorns, like they did. Unicorns were vicious.  
  
"Any sign of the light?" I asked.  
  
"I think it's over there." She pointed to the edge of the tiny clearing we were standing in. A tiny, twinkling light could be seen between the trees. "But I don't think we can get there."  
  
"Bloody bushes," I grumbled.  
  
And they were indeed bloody. The thorny creepers we'd landed in covered all but the circle around our feet, and some whitened bones stuck out from the edge of them. In the dim light, the creeper looked evil, somehow, but that could just be a trick of my overheated mind. We were standing in a dip in the landscape, almost like a bowl, and the creepers covered it completely. It was bloody impossible to get to the light without crossing a carpet of three-inch thorns.  
  
"We landed in them," Granger pointed out, "But our clothes must have protected us, because I don't think I'm bleeding."  
  
"Neither do I." I agreed, "But walking across that is like threading on broken glass. We'll have to clear a path through it."  
  
"Burn it?" She suggested.  
  
"Should work, yes," I nodded. "It doesn't get much light in here, so it should be sensitive to both light and fire."  
  
"Incendio." She said, pointing at the creeper with her wand. Blue-bell flames burned at the creeper, which reacted more violently than anticipated.  
  
Strands of it, with sharp, three-inch thorns whipped up and tried to smash into our faces and arms: one of them wrapped around my wrist and tugged, and I grit my teeth against the pain as two of the thorns made short work of my skin. I tugged back, and to my surprise, it snapped. A wild, hissing noise filled the air and the raging plant snapped and burned, shrivelling up like old leaves. One of the whipping strands caught Granger in the head, and sanity once more left my mind: I snatched hold of her arm and dragged her through the path she'd made, out on the other side of the creepers.  
  
Just as we scrambled over the edge of the bowl, the vicious plant let out a thin, wailing scream. It sounded not like an animal or a human, but just as plants would, if they had a voice. With a last few half-hearted whips, the creeper crumbled up and died. It left behind the vicious thorns, which littered the ground like left-over knives. Breathing heavily, I sat down on the ground and ran down a mental tally of myself, to check if I was all there.  
  
"You're bleeding." Granger told me. She had collapsed beside me, breathing as if she'd run a marathon as well.  
  
"So are you," I pointed out, indicating the cut running down her cheek.  
  
"I'll live," she shrugged awkwardly.  
  
"I'm keeping this," I said, reaching down and picking up a particularly large thorn.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because it's sharp, and I feel like getting revenge on the sodding plant, alright?" I snapped, agitated. "Where to now?" I asked, calmer, after I put the thorn up my sleeve.  
  
"The light's over there, but it's further away now," she sighed, apparently ignoring my irritation.  
  
"Of course," I said, still irritated. "It'll keep moving until we get to the Portkey point."  
  
Granger grumbled to herself, but got up off the ground and started walking towards the light. I scrambled to my feet and hurried after her, since I didn't want to be left alone in the Forbidden Forest, not even if I was paid a million galleons for it. Despite having more or less outgrown my fear of werewolves, being in the Forest sparked it up again, and being left alone was the last thing on my To-Do list for the day.  
  
Strange birds flew overhead, chirping oddly in the silence. Some of them tired to attack us, but I waved my hand at them and they stopped their attempts. It earned me some more cuts on the arms, and one of them tried to take a piece of my ear, but other than that, I was fine. My wrist had stopped bleeding too, so I was as happy as one could be while trapped in a danger-infested forest with a girl you don't like spending time with. Granger trudged along in front of me, looking around her constantly to keep an eye out for dangerous creatures.  
  
Despite Granger's rigorous watch, neither of us noticed the Erkling until it was almost upon us. The high-pitched cackling laugh it emitted made me clap my hands over my ears, trying not to have my eardrums ruptured. Granger did the same, screaming, and in the process dropped her wand. The screeching sound was enough to make my head pound: Erklings mostly use their cackle to take children away from their keepers and kill them, and as such, their voice is very enticing to young people. To human beings over the age of fourteen, though, their noise is painful to hear, and can cause brain-damage. Listening to it for extended periods of time could even cause insanity.  
  
In a moment of clarity, I realised it was up to me to handle the Erkling. I looked around me, in hopes that I might find some help from the trees, all the while trying to remember how to get rid of Erklings. The only things that popped up in my mind were Germany and collapsible cauldrons. I pulled the stick I'd brought from my dorm out of my pocket, transfigured it into a much heavier rock, and slammed it into the head of the Erkling, hoping to buy myself some time.  
  
Imagine my surprise when the Erkling folded up on the ground and stopped screaming altogether. Kicking it slightly proved my sudden suspicion. It was dead. It was deader than dead. If it was any deader, people would be making comical sketches about it. I prodded it again, just to see that I hadn't been wrong the first time, before turning to Granger, who was whimpering on the ground, hands still over her ears.  
  
"It's dead, Granger," I said, prodding her with my foot as well.  
  
"D-dead?" She stammered, uncurling and standing up. "How?"  
  
"I thumped it with a rock." I dropped the rock hurriedly. "Get your wand: we're in a bit of a hurry, you know."  
  
She snatched her wand up, apparently too shaken up to ask how I'd found a rock that big when there hadn't been one in the vicinity when the Erkling attacked. Thanking deities she was somewhat ignorant, I took the lead towards the distant light. The Bubble floated along in a bubbly, up-and- down manner, and if I listened closely, I could hear distant mumbling from it. Granger was mumbling behind me too, though I couldn't snatch up anything else from her jumbled speech than "cauldrons", "crazy" and "lobster". That girl confused me no end sometimes.  
  
The landscape got rougher as we walked, or tried to, towards the light. At times, we were forced to balance precariously over small rivers on slippery stones. A Grindylow tired to pull Granger under, but I stomped on its fingers before that could happen, and it retreated, swearing bubbles at me. We go across, splashed with water and a little worse for wear, but otherwise unscathed. My wrist was starting to ache uncomfortably though, and I wondered if the thorns had been poisoned, because Granger seemed to have a problem with keeping her balance.  
  
The passage of a small but significant patch of Devil's Snare's left us worn out and ready to fall boneless to the ground, so I ordered a moment's rest. I collapsed with my back against an old tree, while Granger just sat down in the middle of a clearing. Since there were no obviously dangerous plants, aside from the bony trees, I didn't bother to tell her otherwise. Tired both from lack of sleep and the massive work of getting from our arrival point to the small clearing, which probably wasn't even halfway to the Portkey point, my eyes slipped closed on their own accord, and I sank into a light sleep. Granger was still wide awake, trying to wring some water out of her hair when I closed my eyes, so I figured she'd wake me up before too long.  
  
I woke up on my own, after a rather disturbing dream about bones and thorns, to the feeling of something crawling along my wrist and buzzing in my ear. Opening my eyes, I met Granger's terrified gaze. Her face was stark white, and she was looking at something about an inch to the left of my face, wand in her white-knuckled hand.  
  
"Zabini, if you value your life, don't move." She said, doing an admirable job at keeping her voice steady.  
  
I blinked.  
  
"Incedo absentis." She pronounced clearly, pointing her wand at me. Whatever was buzzing next to my ear, as well as whatever was crawling on my wrist, disappeared.  
  
"What?" I mumbled, sitting up straighter. I felt a little dazed, and somewhat depressed, but when didn't I feel down?  
  
"Glumbumbles," was all she said.  
  
"Nasty critters," I nodded.  
  
They were, at that. They resembled bees, but in the same way tigers resemble domesticated cats. Grey and slightly furry, they were about an inch an a half long, and lived in old trees and caves, away from the light. Their "honey", a treacle-like substance, induced depression, as did their stings to some extent.  
  
"I think some of them got in your wound, but I got to them rather quickly so the depression should pass," She continued.  
  
"Good." Well, what else was there for me to say? "Let's get going before we severely hurt ourselves."  
  
True to Granger's assurance, the depression wore off in a matter of minutes, when we were battling some vicious blue flowers. They made me sleepy once more, and when I was about to close my eyes, it attempted to strangle me. Granger stopped it by tearing it of its stem. Another tired to make her fall by wrapping around around her feet. Her wand was uselessly wrapped inside her pocket by another of the nasty blue flowers, and without thinking, I hexed the plant with a Severing Charm.  
  
"Prescindir!" I snapped, gesturing towards it, and the blue petals fell uselessly to the ground. I dragged her up again and didn't let go of her arm as I started out towards the light, which was getting closer, though agonisingly slowly.  
  
"Feeling alright?" I asked.  
  
"Better than I would have being strangled to death by deranged blue-bells," she managed a weak smile. "Thanks."  
  
"Couldn't leave you to a death by flowers, could I?" I muttered, trying to ignore the fact the tips of my ear were heating up. "Shout if you see anything dangerous. Like lethal petunias, or something."  
  
"Mhm." She mumbled.  
  
We walked in silence for about ten minutes before I remembered to let go of her arm. Tactfully, she didn't say anything, but just pulled out her wand and kept walking. A Moke scuttled down a tree-trunk, caught sight of us and with a small pop, disappeared. Granger mumbled something to herself about magical lizards and survival instincts, and since the Moke was harmless, we kept walking. It was down-hill now, though a small ridge rose to the left of us. I got my feet tangled in some dead grass, and Granger had to keep my from smashing my face into a rock. It was rather embarrassing, but on the whole, I could stand it. At least it wasn't as bad as the Runespoor we ran into.  
  
It lay sleeping on a branch, wrapped around it, two of the three heads asleep while the third held watch. Granger and I inched around the tree carefully, and it followed our progress with it's small, beady eyes – I wondered why an African snake was curled up in a very British forest, but getting around it and out of its vicinity alive seemed a lot more important at the time, so I put the thought in the "Ponder when Lucas gets blue eyes" file. The light was no considerably closer than it had been, and I was feeling rather cheered up.  
  
"That was close." Granger commented when we were well out of it.  
  
"Not as close as the Erkling." I disagreed.  
  
She turned around to argue her point, like a Ravenclaw would defend a discussion inches from death, but stopped and stared over my right shoulder. Her face turned as white as the Bloody Baron, and her mouth worked soundlessly. Her hands shook as she raised her wand, pointing at something behind me. Filled with a horrible apprehension, I turned around slowly.  
  
"Graphorn," she finally whispered.  
  
The grey-purplish creature as huge, large enough to rival some of the nearby trees, and was staring at us in a definitely hostile way. Two sharp horns lowered slowly, and I saw with absolute clarity what was going to happen. It was going to charge at us, and we were both going to die. A spark of defiance appeared, racing down my spine. An almost Gryffindor-like anger surged up, and I lunged towards Granger, shoving her to the side and out of the way, putting myself in the Graphorn's path. It was a horribly stupid move, but somehow my spine and my feet had overruled my brain, and decided I should be selfless and stupid for once.  
  
The horns missed me by half an inch and buried themselves in the tree. I tried to get away, but the Graphorn made short work of the dead wood and was trying to stomp me to death. Suddenly, it let out an unearthly howl and spun around as fast as its clumsy body would allow, nearly killing me in the process. It was only by pure and utter luck that I avoided being trampled. Getting up, I caught sight of Granger standing on the edge of the clearing, with her wand out.  
  
"Run!" I shouted as the Graphorn charged.  
  
Time slowed down, and I saw her try to scramble out of the way, but she wasn't fast enough. One of the Graphorn's lethal horns glanced off her side, and even in the dim light and the distance, I could see her bleeding profusely. She screamed, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent forest, and folded up on the ground, trying to drag herself out of the way. Something inside me snapped, and the fire of raw magic burned at my fingertips. Green sparks dripped off my fingers like drops of water, and my vision slowly but surely clouded. I couldn't see anything but the Graphorn and Granger trying desperately to get away. Rage was too light a word to describe my state of mind.  
  
Green-tinted flames ripped through the air with a deafening noise, burning the Graphorn's tough hide until it turned a sooty black. The creature lumbered around, roaring in rage. It took one look at me and the green flames surrounding my hands, and decided to find an easier meal. It ran as fast as its lumpy frame would allow, and disappeared between the trees, howling in distress. As soon as it was out of the clearing, I was across it and kneeling at Granger's side.  
  
"Granger?" I called. She didn't respond. "Granger? Please, don't die on me: do you have any idea how much your friends would kill me if I came back with your corpse? Granger? H-Hermione?"  
  
At the sound of her given name, she opened her eyes slightly and looked at me. She didn't seem quite aware just yet, and I busied myself with looking over her wounds. Though it had looked like the horn only touched her side lightly, she still had a cut too long and too deep for my tastes. It ran from her ribs all the way down to her thigh, past her hip-bone. She'd hit her head on a tree, which hadn't helped her previously earned cut on the cheek any. Trying not to break down in hysterics, I calmed the shaking of my hands by systematically tearing my cloak into strips and wrapping them around her to dress her wound.  
  
Left in only my rather tattered uniform, I attempted to contact her again, while helping her into a more upright position.  
  
"H-Hermione?" I stumbled over her name, not being used to saying it. "Please, be a little more conscious. I don't know how to use the Ennervate spell yet, so I can't help you, and I need you to be awake." I must have sounded helpless and pathetic. "Potter will behead me with a spoon when we get out of here, you know. Not that I can blame him: it is all my fault anyway. But it was rather short-sighted of you to put yourself in the Graphorn's way like that. C'mon, wake up?"  
  
She opened her eyes again, and gave me a more focused, if rather confused look than she had the first time she returned to reality. I eased my arm between her head and the tree trunk so that she wouldn't be hurting her head even more.  
  
"Wha' happn'd?" She mumbled, trying to focus her gaze on something and ended up staring at my nose.  
  
"The Graphorn ran you down," I couldn't keep myself from smiling in relief. "You've got a cut the length of my forearm running down your ribcage now, but it looks like you'll live."  
  
"My head hurts," she said, regaining the capability to form full sentences with a full number of letters again.  
  
"As it should: you banged your head on the tree, and I think there was poison in the thorns that cut you earlier," I chuckled despite the seriousness of the situation. "Feeling well enough to keep going?"  
  
"I don't think I can walk on my own," she admitted.  
  
"I'll help you." I promised quietly. "Here, let's stand you up on the count of three. Ready? One, two, three."  
  
I hauled her up, and she gasped sharply in pain. Waiting until the pain faded, we started walking slowly towards the light. It had gotten closer after we got rid of the Graphorn, which led me to believe we didn't have a long way left to go. The forest seemed to thin out as well, which heralded the arrival of another clearing, or perhaps even the edge of the forest. Our progress was painfully slow, but I didn't want to speed it up, since Hermione was staring to bleed through the makeshift bandages, wetting my shirt and turning it red, and I didn't want her to die from blood loss.  
  
"We're nearly there now," I said as quietly as I could. "Just another few steps. That's right, one more then. Careful of the rock there. There's no need to hurry: we have all day and all night if we have to. The light is just a little further."  
  
"You know what?" She chuckled weakly. "There's something my father says every once in a while, to make me laugh: ´When you're in a tunnel, don't walk towards the light!´."  
  
"Well, good thing we aren't in a tunnel then, isn't it?" I grinned back, as be circled a tree and kept walking.  
  
"Yeah. Zabini?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Thanks for helping me." She smiled.  
  
"I couldn't just let you bleed to death, could I? It's kind of the same situation as with the flower, I'm afraid, but a bit more serious this time," I said evasively.  
  
"You're not too bad after all," She whispered with a smile. "Would you mind terribly if I said I don't want to fight you any more?"  
  
"A bit," I tried to shrug, but it was difficult while holding onto her. "But I'll get over it. This, however, doesn't automatically mean you're my best friend."  
  
"I know it doesn't. I'm not dense: I'll just not pick fights with you." She attempted a shrug, but stopped abruptly and hissed when the pain hit her again.  
  
The rest of our walk was quiet, as Hermione had enough trouble trying to keep from falling down, and I had my thoughts to keep my company. I had just made relative peace with a Gryffindor. Like I'd told her, it didn't make her my friend, but it made her someone I wouldn't have to watch out for. It was nice, in an awkward and strange kind of way. Things weren't going to be all sunshine and daisies from now on, but they would be simpler. As long as she understood this wouldn't stop me from insulting her if I felt she deserved it.  
  
The Portkey point turned out to be a small circle of grass surrounded by rather friendly looking trees. Or perhaps it was just the relief of being done with the exam that did it. The Portkey was an old, ragged teddy-bear with only one leg left. Managing somehow to remain standing, we grabbed the Portkey at the same time, and the familiar tugging sensation pulled us out of the godforsaken forest. The last thing I saw before the Portkey pulled us away was Hermione's bloodied hands clutching at mine.  
  
'''''''''  
  
It was only through extreme luck and a bit of manoeuvring on my part that we remained standing when we arrived outside the forest. Hermione was clutching at my hand with one of hers, the other wrapped around my waist, trying to keep from falling down and hurting herself, while I leaned against a conveniently placed fence to steady myself.  
  
"Welcome back," Lucas greeted us from behind his table. "How are you feeling?"  
  
"Like breaking your bleeding nose," I replied, opening my eyes again and glaring. "You said you had Healers, didn't you?"  
  
"Yes," Lucas nodded. "McQuillen!"  
  
A man dressed in light green robes with a strange badge hurried up to him from the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He was short and stocky, and was smiling widely, at least until he spotted Hermione and me. Then, his face suddenly turned serious, and somewhat angry, and he quickly helped me lead her to the closest bench, looking like he was liable to explode.  
  
"I should report you for this, Lucas: it's illegal to put people in mortal danger," McQuillen said angrily. "If I didn't know you were such a responsible man, I'd have you hung."  
  
"I have faith in you, McQuillen: you are perfectly capable of handling this," Lucas said, his eyes never leaving the bubbles. "Now, unless you need my assistance, I have another ten students out in the Forest, whom I have to keep track of."  
  
"What happened?" McQuillen asked me, "To her, firstly."  
  
"We landed in some creeper with thorns," I began as one should, at the beginning. "I think they were poisonous, one got me in the arm and I started feeling odd some half-hour after that," I showed him my wrist in the passing. "She got cut on the cheek. And she started walking strangely, like she couldn't keep her balance."  
  
"What sort of creeper was it?" McQuillen asked, checking the wound on her cheek.  
  
"I don't know," I admitted, "I don't take Herbology. But I kept this thorn." I held up the nasty looking thorn, shrugging it out of my sleeve.  
  
"Oh holy Keeper of the Scepter!" McQuillen exclaimed, snatching it from my fingers. "That's Moonthorns that is: if left for too long, they can be fatal! Here, you said you'd gotten stung as well? You'll need an antidote right now: drink this, while I help her."  
  
He handed me a small vial of green potion, which I drunk as quickly as possible. In the silence of my mind, I resolved to break Lucas' nose as soon as I could. Not only had he sent us straight into the jaws of a Graphorn, but he'd dumped us squarely in a lethal plant. Not even if he had a good reason would I stop from punching him. Hurting me was fine, because as he had said, this was an opportunity to train me, but hurting Hermione? Now that was a personal insult.  
  
"What else did you run into?" McQuillen asked. "What a mess you are."  
  
"What didn't we run into would be a more appropriate question," I snorted. "An Erkling, which we took care of, a Grindylow which left us soaked but all the better for it. Some Devil's Snare's, but, we managed. Glumbumbles, but the depression passed, and they didn't affect her. Some blue flowers that nearly made me fall asleep. We walked around a Runespoor, which watched us but didn't do anything. We saw a Moke. Oh, and a Graphorn, which is to blame for the wound she's got down her ribcage."  
  
"A Graphorn?" McQuillen looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or take me seriously.  
  
"Yes. Ugly brute it was too: it barely touched her though, otherwise she'd be dead. I managed to scare it off and patched her up the best I could." I could see he didn't believe me. "It nearly got me too, but fool that she is, she distracted it and wasn't fast enough to get out of the way."  
  
"A Graphorn?" The Healer repeated. "You're not serious!"  
  
"Are you calling me a liar?" I asked as calmly as I could, "And this," I unwrapped some of the makeshift bandages and showed him the wound, "A figment of your imagination?"  
  
"No," he shook his head, slipping back into professionalism. "Step away while I take care of this: as soon as I'm done I want the two of you in the infirmary, understood? Good. Chaisty! Give me a hand here!"  
  
I backed off, far enough to give them some working space, and leaned against the fence. For the first time since we'd Portkeyed out of the Forest, I looked around and realised it was rather crowded around me. Closer to the edge of the forest, some grim-looking wizards and witches, among whom I thought I could see Anja, as well as a healthy number of Healers were waiting around for everyone to come out of the exam alive. But that wasn't all: at the steps of Hagrid's cabin, the students who had gotten out before us were sitting, only now noticing mine and Hermione's arrival. Among them were Potter, as well as Bones and assorted Ravenclaws, and Potter was looking murderous.  
  
I braced myself as he got up and headed in my direction, looking like he would rip me apart if no one stopped him. Wisely, he avoided the Healers, though he looked frantic about Hermione, and avoided raising his voice at first as to not draw attention from Lucas.  
  
"What the hell did you do to her?" He hissed, his knuckles white with the effort of not punching my lights out.  
  
"I didn't do anything to her, except perhaps keep her alive until we reached the Portkey point," I replied, keeping myself calm. This wasn't the time to fight.  
  
"She's bleeding!" He snapped, though quietly.  
  
"So am I." I pointed out, holding up my stabbed wrist.  
  
"It's your fault, isn't it?"  
  
"Probably, but causing it isn't the same as doing it." I shrugged. "Look, Potter, I wouldn't get anything out of deliberately hurting your best friend, even if I actually was cruel enough to do it. Everything that happened to her was purely by accident, though some of it was, certainly my fault. If it hadn't been for me, I'm sure she would have been sent to a safer section. As it was, she wasn't and ended up with me. Indirectly, as you can see, her wounds are my fault, but I didn't stab her, I didn't poison her and I certainly didn't chuck her in a lake with a Grindylow. So could you just please drop in and let me chew on my nerves alone?"  
  
My little speech seemed to shock him somewhat, but it also made him calm down. Still, he glared at me, but looks I could handle. It was outright confrontation that was a little difficult when I was still a little dizzy from being poisoned, and a little shaken up both from the massive magical feat I'd performed and the attack from the Graphorn.  
  
"Here, you, with the bloody shirt!" McQuillen called. "We've patched her up and given her the antidote, so you're off to the infirmary. No excuses."  
  
Helping Hermione to her feet, I started out on the slow journey to the infirmary and Madam Pomfrey. Potter watched us go, glaring fiercely, but there was nothing he could do since I was under orders from a senior Healer. Hermione herself was barely conscious, but managed to put one foot in front of the other all the way to the hospital wing.  
  
"Merlin! What happened to you?" Madam Pomfrey asked when she opened the door.  
  
"The Forbidden Forest happened,"I made a face. "We were sent here by Healer McQuillen: he said we weren't to leave until a more thorough check- up had been done on us."  
  
"Come in, come in. You look fit to collapse, boy!" She snapped at me, clearly worried.  
  
"I just need some sleep," I protested, helping Hermione onto a bed. "And I'll be fine."  
  
I didn't get further than that before my vision went out and my knees hit the floor. After that, I was hard-pressed to remember anything. Unconsciousness does that to a person.  
  
''''''''''''''  
  
Ending Notes: Poor Blaise. Poor Hermione. This chapter was a lot longer than the usual, but only because I had so much to write and didn't know when to stop. Tune in next chapter to see what happens when Blaise finally wakes up again.  
  
The spells and curses in this chapter were stolen from an English-to-Latin dictionary on the web, so forgive any inaccuracies, since I don't actually know Latin. 


	31. Conversations

I had a headache when I returned from the darkness of my mind. That was not good. However, I was lying down on a hospital bed, which was better. It meant I wasn't being trampled by a rabid Graphorn. Almost anything is better than being trampled by a rabid Graphorn. I blinked against the light, wondering how much time had passed between my my knees hitting the floor and my waking up. Disoriented was too light a word.  
  
"Ah, finally awake, are we?" A voice I recognised as McQuillen's asked, all too cheerfully.  
  
"You might be: I'm considering coming back at a more convenient time, myself." I grumbled, and tried to pull the sheets over my head. He wouldn't let me.  
  
"Now, now, I'm a Healer, and you've been hurt." He continued happily. "And it is my duty, no, my right to see if you're alright. It wouldn't hurt to do a small check-up."  
  
"Madam Pomfrey!" I called, trying to be loud and quiet at the same time, since I could see someone sleeping in the next bed out of the corner of my eye.  
  
"Awake, I see," Madam Pomfrey smiled, coming around a white screen. "How are you feeling?"  
  
"My bruises have bruises, and my toenails ache," I confessed somewhat sullenly, "But I'll be fine. Could you please make him stop bothering me?" I indicated McQuillen.  
  
"Why, dear? What has he done?" She busied herself with straightening my sheets and doing all the things nurses do.  
  
"He's on trial for the offence of being horribly cheerful before I've gotten my coffee," I glared at the Healer. "And he wants to examine me."  
  
"What?" Pomfrey's expression turned indignant. "Shoo! Shoo, get out, man! This is my infirmary, and if I need help, I'll notify St. Mungo's. You have no right to move in on my students like that! Out!"  
  
I couldn't help but chuckle as the Healer was chased out of the infirmary by a rather upset Poppy Pomfrey. She returned after a moment, grumbling about Healers and arrogance. Not for the first time, I wondered if she had ever had some past differences with St. Mungo-Healers before, since she'd reacted so violently to McQuillen, and due to her unwillingness to have her work questioned. Once she wound down again and stopped being quite so abrupt in her movements, I settled down against the pillow again.  
  
"What time is it?" I asked.  
  
"Well past dinner, dear," she said. "Now, I'm going to give you a little something to sleep on, so you can sleep off the headache."  
  
"Thanks," I mumbled as she handed me a cloudy blue potion. I went out like a light after finishing it.  
  
'''''''''''''  
  
The next time I rejoined the beings known as humans, it was dark outside, and the infirmary was silent. Other that that, the three things differing from my previous awakening was that I didn't have a headache, that I wasn't tired, and no one was there when I woke up. More awake than I had been in ages, I sat up in my bed, looking around me in interest. On my previous extended visits to the infirmary, I had never been awake in the middle of the night, so it was interesting to see it so empty and quiet. Some odd, medical instruments were lying on a bench near the wall, looking a bit like a disfigured carpet with spikes. I wondered what it was, but figured that it took years of medical studies to find out.  
  
"Zabini?"  
  
Seeing to reason to get nervous or jumpy, I turned around quite calmly in my bed and looked Granger, who was in the bed just beside me. She looked battered, but in the moonlight I couldn't tell if those were shadows on her face or bruises. Despite her less than healthy state, she looked cheerful, in an extremely tired way.  
  
"Welcome back to the land of the living, Granger." I grinned. "How are you feeling?"  
  
"Like Hagrid just danced the polka with spikes attached to his boots on my ribcage," she rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "But I'll live."  
  
"That's a rather vivid image," I winced in sympathy. "had any visitors yet?"  
  
"No. This is the first time I wake up since we Portkeyed out." She shook her head. "What happened?"  
  
"We appeared just outside the forest, and the damned bubble disappeared," I hiked myself up towards the wall so that I could sit up without falling over. "I told Lucas I wanted to break his nose, and some obnoxious Healer rushed to help us. Did you know that the creeper we landed in was poisonous? No? Neither did I, though I suspected it. We both got fed the antidote, and I had a fight with Potter over your condition while the Healers patched you up. I was sent with you to the infirmary, and then I passed out. That's more or less what happened."  
  
"You had a fight with Harry over me?" She inquired, sounding as if she didn't really believe me.  
  
"Yeah. He was convinced it was my fault you looked like you'd faced down a Chimaera." I shrugged. "I snapped a bit at him, but can you blame me? I wasn't exactly myself then. Normally, I don't have to drag semi-conscious girls through a monster-infested forest all by my lonesome."  
  
"You don't?" She murmured quietly. "And here I had you pegged for a girl- dragging monster-fanatic. Do you have some other hobby, then?"  
  
"Sarcasm," I replied promptly. "But it isn't much if a hobby."  
  
"If it is, it's a purely Slytherin one." She scrunched up her nose, "If you don't mind, I think I'm going to go back to sleep now. G'night."  
  
"Night." I said, bewildered that she had bothered with such mundane things as courtesy towards me.  
  
Despite having, perhaps temporarily, buried the hatchet with her, I hadn't expected courtesy. Six years of passive hostility was a hard thing to give up and put aside, after all. Perhaps she had just said it out of habit and fatigue. Crawling back down and pulling the sheets up, only now realising I wasn't wearing a shirt, I tired to put my mind to rest.  
  
Half an hour and six-hundred, thirty-eight and a quarter sheep later, I was finally able to slip off again.  
  
'''''''''''''  
  
The sun, despite Muggle, religious beliefs, was the work of demons. I tried to hide beneath the sheets of the bed, attempted to crawl into the pillow, but none of it helped. Madam Pomfrey roused me mercilessly, though she was kind enough to have found some coffee to go with my breakfast. Hermione watched be from her bed, smiling brightly for some reason. She still looked like death might have been a step up, but at least she didn't look as horribly pale and drawn as she had when we arrived at the infirmary.  
  
"G'morning." I got out between my bites of breakfast. "Feeling better?"  
  
"Marginally." She said. "Zabini?"  
  
"Mmmpf?" I answered through a mouthful of toast and eggs.  
  
"How did you make the Graphorn leave?" There was a note of puzzlement in her tone. "I can't remember much, what with trying to get away, and suddenly it just left."  
  
A flash-like memory of the green flames that had dripped off my fingertips like liquid fire made me stumble on my reply, but I swallowed the mouthful and prepared my answer as carefully as possible. To be truthful, that moment of pure magical power had frightened even me. There was a wildness about it that I hadn't even known I possessed.  
  
"To be honest," I began, lying through my teeth, "I don't remember much either. I remember getting horribly angry, and I remember screaming at it, but between that and trying to get you to open your eyes again, it's kind of blank."  
  
"Hmm." She sounded suspicious, but didn't press the matter, which was exactly what I wanted.  
  
Finishing my breakfast in silence, I began to make a run-down of my injuries. My head no longer ached, and I wasn't the least bit tired after the coffee. However, the skin on my hands felt tender, as if it would break open if I moved my fingers, and the joints in my arms from my shoulders down ached as well. The Moonthorn-wound I'd sustained had left two holes in my arm which were quickly healing, though I was sure they would leave scars. The matter of the green fire would have to be discussed with Lucas. After I'd punched his lights out and broken several small bones in his body.  
  
"Blaise!"  
  
"No Millie! Don't hug me! I'm injured, for Merlin's sake!" I said, trying to fend my rather rabid friend off.  
  
"We're worried about you, you miserable bastard," Millicent said, snatching a quick but light hug anyway. "I thought my heart was going to stop when I came out of the Forest and Lucas told me you'd gone off to the hospital wing!"  
  
"Did you threaten to castrate him yet?" I enquired. "It would do the world a favour, you know."  
  
I heard Hermione choke on her breakfast, but I chose to ignore her for the time being. Millicent had an enquiring mind, and enquiring minds want to know why things happen, such as my sudden peace with Hermione. My best friend settled on my bed, legs crossed, and started firing questions at me.  
  
"How are you feeling?"  
  
"Like mince-meat feels."  
  
"Are you going to be better soon?"  
  
"Would I let a couple of scars stop me?"  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"Rabid Graphorn in the wrong part of Europe."  
  
"How was the exam?"  
  
"I think we've redefined the meaning of ´hellish´."  
  
"Did you, like Potter claims, stab Granger with a thorn?"  
  
"Do I look like a psychopath?"  
  
"Did you carry her all the way to the infirmary?"  
  
"Dragged would be a more appropriate word: she wasn't conscious for long."  
  
"Weasley says you raped her. Should I call Aurors, the mental hospital or just beat the snot out of him?" A grin appeared on her face at this.  
  
"Whichever comes first. He's a lying rat, though." I assured her, while Hermione was trying not to laugh. "I'd never rape anyone, and you know it. I might go sarcastic on her to the point of pain, but raping her would be morally wrong, not to mention despicable."  
  
"Slytherins don't have morals, Blaise," Millicent informed me seriously. "Didn't you get the memo?"  
  
"We mightn't have morals, but there is such a thing as honour." I reminded her. "And freaks of nature. Such as me."  
  
"Good, now that I've given you the third degree, I'll go tell the others how you're feeling." Millicent chirped, hugged me again and was off.  
  
Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but decided against it and shut her mouth again. She shook her head, muttered and picked up a book, which I assumed her friend's had brought her before I woke up. On my bedside table, there was nothing but an old crossword. Mentally grumbling, I grabbed the quill next to it and set to work distracting myself from boredom.  
  
Pomfrey came in and fed Hermione some more potions, but I ignored them the best I could. From the feeling in my arms and legs, the pain was fading and I'd be out of the infirmary before dinner. Upsetting Madam Pomfrey in any way might extend my stay, and I certainly didn't want that. Not when punching Lucas and kill the rumours about me were on my to-do list. Let's see, Japanese water-demon, five letters. That would be Kappa then, wouldn't it? Carefully filling in the letters, I listened with half an ear to the conversation between Hermione and Madam Pomfrey.  
  
"...And my ribs hurt." Hermione apparently concluded her list of injuries.  
  
"Yes, they were broken, but they're healed now. All you need is bed-rest and a few medical potions, and you'll be up and running around in no time," Madam Pomfrey said. "Before that happens though, I want to have a word with your Professor."  
  
"He'll be a broken-nosed eunuch if you're not quick enough," I piped up. "Millicent Bulstrode wants to castrate him, and I want to break his nose."  
  
"When I get a hold of Vincent Lucas, he will be spending the rest of his time in St. Mungo's, having to get help with eating on account of having no teeth," Madam Pomfrey informed me. "He might have entertained himself by going into that ruddy forest when he was a student here, but this is going too far."  
  
She bustled out of the infirmary, saying something about seeing Dumbledore and we were once more left alone. I chuckled at the nurse's sudden departure, and wished that she would find her mark well and good. Lucas could hide in the most distant nooks of the castle, but Dumbledore would find him, and when he did, I'd be there to punch that infuriating smirk off his face. Preferably with something hard, like iron, on my knuckles. I was so angry with him that my hands shook when I thought about it.  
  
"Penny for your thoughts?" Hermione said.  
  
"Professor Lucas," I shrugged. "I'm pondering ways to complete his gruesome murder. Do you think I can work in needles and a streetlight?"  
  
"If you put your heart to it, you could do anything." She assured me.  
  
"Probably." I agreed, but thinking of different things than she was. While she had in mind determination and force of will, all I saw were breakdowns and those roaring green flames. If I could burn a Graphorn badly enough to scare it off when I wasn't even trying, the things I would be able to do when I had my magic under control were frightening.  
  
Lucas' tale of the wizard San, who had sunk a whole island reappeared in my mind. If San had been the most powerful wandless-magic wizard, which was likely, my green fire wasn't a drop in the ocean even. But then what he had told me of the Mongolian witch, who had blasted such a big hole in the Gobi- desert that it had been made unplottable, crept back into my mind, and I shuddered. If San's island destruction, and the Mongolian witch's breakdown was any indication of what masters of wandless magic could do, I didn't even want to think about what I could cause.  
  
Opting to sleep instead of worry, I closed my eyes and caught up on some of the sleepless nights I'd spent studying.  
  
''''''''''  
  
Discharged from the infirmary just in time for dinner, I headed for Lucas' office as soon as the door was closed behind me. The rage that I had kept in check since yesterday, around midday, suddenly returned with vengeance. It bubbled in my veins like poison as I made my way down the various floors and landings between the infirmary and Lucas' office. I arrived, slightly out of breath and with my shoulders aching, but still in possession of a feeling that had passed white-hot anger and arrived in the calm sea of icy rage. My fingers didn't shake the slightest as I knocked on the door.  
  
"Come on in."  
  
He was sitting behind his desk with his glasses in his hand when I entered, eating a sandwich with what looked like chocolate. On the desk in front of him lay a list of some kind, and a discarded quill.  
  
"Ah, Zabini. I see you escaped Poppy's clutches." He said. "How are you holding up?"  
  
The cheerful question made my last restraint snap like a dry twig, and I hauled off and hit him. There was a satisfying snapping sound when my fist made contact with his nose, and he reeled back as I drew back and shook my stinging hand. It hurt, and I tried to massage some feeling back into my numb fingers as Lucas sat up straight again and inspected the blood that was dripping from his nose with a calm detachment I had come to expect.  
  
"I should report you for unwanted student/teacher contact," He informed me, "But I won't. You know why? I deserved that. A fist to the face and a broken nose is nothing compared to what happened to you and Granger. I truly am sorry about that."  
  
"As you bloody well should!" I couldn't keep my voice down and shouted at him. "I might be walking around like normal, but she's up there in the infirmary, looking like the Grey Lady. Her side was split open from the top of her ribcage to her thigh! If she hadn't opened her eyes when I screamed at her to wake up, I don't know if I would have lost my mind! I nearly did anyway, and it's all your fault!"  
  
"Calm down again, Zabini." Lucas looked angry for a moment. "I know you're worried, but that's no reason to lose your mind."  
  
Taking several deep, calming breaths, I collapsed numbly in the second chair in his office. The rage had dissipated soon after I had hit him, and now I just felt tired. Bones that shouldn't ache ached, and muscles I didn't even know I had screamed in protest as I willed my body to sit up straighter.  
  
"I think I've already lost it," I sighed. "Raging fire isn't something I've learned how to summon, even with a wand."  
  
"Fire?" He questioned.  
  
"Mmmh. Of the green variety, unless my memory fails me," I nodded. "When the Graphorn charged at her, something in my head, right about here," I pointed right behind my ear, "snapped, and suddenly there was green fire everywhere. It hurt, and I don't know where it came from."  
  
"Fire, you say? Interesting." He mumbled. "But there's not much to be done now about it. School ends in three days, and after that you won't be around any more. Neither will I, come to think about it."  
  
"You're leaving?" It wasn't much surprise around though, since no Defence teacher to date had lasted more than one year. But, despite his craziness, it had looked like Lucas would last.  
  
"Only for the summer." He shrugged. "I have to look into the family home. It's been abandoned for some time. But by fall I'll be back and teaching again."  
  
"That ought to be a first." I muttered. "You're not going to hold our N.E.W.T's, are you?"  
  
"No, there's a special committee at the Ministry for that." Lucas denied. "You will not have to suffer through another gruesome exam at my hands."  
  
"Thank Merlin." I said sincerely and got up from the chair. "That exam was bad enough to last me a lifetime. I've got to go and tell everyone I'm alive now, so I suppose I'll see you come fall."  
  
"I'll be taking the train, so you're not quite rid of me yet." He reminded me. "But go on now: I've got some last-minute grading to do."  
  
"Have as nice a summer you can have when you're a manipulative bastard," I said, heading out the door.  
  
"I'll do my best." He called after me as I shut the door.  
  
Well, I thought as I leaned against the wall, it was time to face the wolves and kill the outrageous rumours about me and Hermione. If I let it go on, by the time Hermione was out of the infirmary, people would probably be convincing each other that she was pregnant with Voldemort's spawn and that I was, in fact, a demon in disguise. I had listened to Hogwart's rumour mill too many times to believe they would just stop.  
  
''''''''''''''''  
  
Ending Notes: And so he's out of the infirmary and into the fire again. He hasn't snapped yet, so I'm going to have some fun torturing him over the next few chapters. Next chapter he will finally be out of Hogwarts again: a change of scenery will do me good at least. 


	32. Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day?

Summer holidays were a kind of freedom. While not the complete freedom, which only finishing seventh year gave, it was a respite from the constant homework and essays and unprepared tests. I breathed in the warm summer air as we stood on the station waiting for the train, and all troubles I'd been worrying about the last few weeks disappeared.  
  
"Summer's my favourite time of year," I told the world around me, which, true to its habit, largely ignored me.  
  
"Tell me about it," Millicent smiled. "There's no end to the possibilities."  
  
"Speak for yourself," Agnes griped. "I'm in for another two months of chess and talking to my cat. Do you have any idea how boring chess is when you play it six or seven times every day for two months straight?"  
  
"About as boring as it is hiding out in a tree-house playing noughts and crosses for two months, and talking to dead parrots." Theo replied. "I'm going to have to thank our gardener for building that tree-house sometime. If I can find enough pieces of him, that is."  
  
"Misery loves company and all that, so I think I'll leave you two love- birds alone," I chuckled.  
  
That comment earned me a punch on the arm courtesy of Agnes. Theo tried not to look like the Gryffindor banner, but failed spectacularly. Laughing outright at them, I set about avoiding Agnes' punches the best I could. Despite having to live in a rented room at the Leaky Cauldron, the summer was starting to look up for me. While it wouldn't be the best summer I'd ever have, I'd pull through and might even have some fun on the way.  
  
As the train rolled in, we were all more cheerful than we had been when we left the castle. Leaving the castle was, just as every year, a rather sad experience. Most students would have been giddy with happiness at leaving school, but normally we weren't: it meant that there'd be two months before we came back to what had become almost like a second home to all of us. At least it was to me, and judging from Agnes' and Theo's acid comments, it was for them as well. For me, leaving became doubly hard, since I didn't know where I was going.  
  
With much huffing and puffing and scrubbing of knees, and a lot of laughs later, we were finally on our way to King's Cross. I had seen Lucas board the train, followed by two simpering girls who were whispering to each other and giggling. He didn't look particularly happy about it. Not particularly happy would also be fitting three words to describe the looks on Potter's and Weasley's faces when they spotted me. They had flanked up around Hermione with the rest of the Gryffindors and were giving me the evil eye, looking as if I was responsible for everything bad that had happened to wizard kind from the Grindelwald war on up.  
  
"Have I accidentally sprouted horns?" I asked Millicent as we watched Gaspar and Theo play chess.  
  
"If you have, they're invisible," she said. "Why do you ask?"  
  
"Because if looks could kill, Weasley would be putting the final nail in my coffin right about now," I said, slightly uneasy. My ribs ached in remembrance of the fist fight we'd had. "Don't tell me he actually believes I raped his best friend just for the heck of it."  
  
"I don't think he does, since Granger slaps him every time he suggests it," Agnes broke in.  
  
"She does, funnily enough," Millicent agreed. "But he might have convinced himself you hexed her or something."  
  
"Has anyone ever told him he's amazingly stupid?"  
  
"Repeatedly," Draco said. "But I don't think he gets it. Perhaps because he is amazingly stupid."  
  
"Could be," I said, "Or it might just be because he wants to believe we're backstabbing traitors. He's such a Gryffindor, don't you think?"  
  
"Helpless case, I'm afraid," Theo sighed. "They're all amazingly stupid."  
  
"Hermione Granger isn't." Cain piped up. "She's in the top of all her classes, and she doesn't pick fights with anyone, not even Draco."  
  
"Maybe, but she still thinks she's better than us Slytherins," Draco pointed out.  
  
"Can you blame her?" I asked, standing up abruptly. The conversation had taken a turn I didn't know if I wanted to follow. "I'm going to get something to eat."  
  
The way I left the compartment could almost be described as escape. While making peace with Hermione was fine, discussing the why's and how's of it with my friends was a step I wasn't quite prepared for yet. I had lied so much to them over the year that I wasn't sure if I could bear to do it again. I was amazed that they still trusted me and hadn't called me out on my lies yet. Some of them had been so bleeding obvious it had hurt telling them. Millicent had been suspicious of me, that was for certain, but she hadn't figured out just how much I had lied to them all.  
  
The lady with the candy-cart was just coming down our way, so I stopped her and bought some chocolate and a bag of ice-mice. Ice-mice had been a favourite of mine since my Father took me to Diagon Alley and bought me a whole bag of them when I was five. Ever since I had been addicted to them, though not as addicted as I had been to chocolate and coffee. Not quite ready to go back and face the curious stares of my friends just yet, I wandered down the train, thinking.  
  
Lucas was sitting in the same compartment as the two girls who had followed him on the train. He was reading some heavy book which I could see the name of, the the girls were giggling and whispering and pointing and doing all the other things twelve-year-old girls do. Needless to say, Lucas did not look particularly amused. Deciding to be nice for once, I ducked into the compartment to help him.  
  
"Hello Professor." I said, as cheerfully as I could manage. "What are you reading?"  
  
"Shakespeare." He muttered.  
  
"Ah. ´To be or not to be, that is the question´," I quoted, working a bit on my plan.  
  
"...´Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer/the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune/Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing, end them´." He finished the quote. "Hamlet. I've always liked that speech."  
  
"I suppose," I said, a bit surprised at his intimate knowledge of a Muggle playwright's work. A dead Muggle playwright, at that. "Girls? Can I have a word with you?"  
  
The two girls, second-year Hufflepuffs, followed me out of the compartment hesitantly, probably frightened by the Slytherin snake on my robes. I couldn't blame them: I wasn't particularly stable, and Slytherins had never treated Hufflepuffs well. Well outside the compartment, I stopped and turned to talk to them.  
  
"Girls, if I were you, I'd avoid Professor Lucas as much as possible," I told them as kindly as I could. "He's a little unstable. When he was at school here he made a sport of torturing rabbits."  
  
Perhaps it was the snake on my robes. Perhaps it was Lucas' frightening appearance. Perhaps I had succeeded in my effort to sound serious. Whatever it was, the girls squeaked, turned on their heels and disappeared, probably looking for their friends. I chuckled before returning to Lucas' compartment.  
  
"They're gone now," I said, smiling.  
  
"What did you tell them?" He asked, not lifting his gaze from the book.  
  
"That you're a criminal madman," I shrugged. "Nothing specific. But they did have Umbridge as a teacher last year, so they're easy to scare off. Whatever did you do to earn them anyway?"  
  
"I woke up this morning, I suppose." He said. "They attached themselves to my shadow when I left my quarters, and didn't leave until now."  
  
"Troublesome." I said. "What do you want me to do about this wandless magic over summer?"  
  
"Keep it down as much as possible. If at all possible, don't perform magic at all. And if you have to, don't do it too obviously." He advised. "We will deal with it somehow, and if you have questions, owl me or the Department of Mysteries. They'll help if you ask them."  
  
"Right. Well, have a better summer than I will," I said, and turned to leave.  
  
"Perhaps." He replied, before returning to his copy of Shakespeare's completed works.  
  
''''''''''''''  
  
The train rolled into King's Cross without further complications, and since everyone seemed to have forgotten about what I'd said when discussing Hermione, I didn't even have to explain myself when I returned to the compartment. Teary farewells were made on Platform 9 ¾, and we all went our separate ways. Millicent was picked up by her parents, and I last saw her trying to explain why she was holding hands with Gaspar Montague as she came off the train. Draco Flooed home together with Pansy, who was spending the summer at Malfoy Manor. Cain, despite his usual thoughtful, standoffish nature, gave me a quick hug before running to his parents. Anges was dragged away by an angry looking grandmother, and Theo was picked up by his gardener.  
  
So I was left, one of the few students still on the Platform, not knowing quite where to go next. Diagon Alley was the obvious choice, since I could very well turn up at home and just announce I was going to stay, since I'd been kicked out. And that was in France in any case. My first stop would have to be Gringotts: thankfully, my father had left me with rather substantial funds to live on in case something happened. Like disowning from the family.  
  
Hermione was waiting for someone outside the barrier, looking quite lost with her trunk and her cat and her Muggle clothes. She was still pale from the blood – loss she'd suffered, but otherwise as good as new. Madam Pomfrey's healing-skills never ceased to amaze me. Hermione had gone from near-dead to almost fully healed in a matter of days.  
  
"Who are you waiting for?" I asked.  
  
"My Mum. She's going to come and pick me up in ten minutes or so." She shrugged carelessly.  
  
"I'll remove myself from the vicinity then," I smiled, despite the bitterness of my thoughts. "Seeing a freak of a Slytherin is perhaps not the best impression your mother could have of the magical world."  
  
"You're not a freak." I heard her say as I walked away, but I pretended not to hear it. It was better to keep walking, to ignore her, and convince myself she hadn't said it. Hearing it would mean I had to listen, and believe her. It was better to believe I was a freak: the wandless magic was easier to deal with if looked at like a disease.  
  
Insanity wasn't far away even on good days, but by not thinking about it, I might be able to escape it a bit longer.  
  
The tiny Levitation Charm I'd put on my trunk made it possible to carry it easily. With my cloak, robes, tie and all but the shirt and trousers of my school uniform stuffed in my trunk, I must have looked rather like a Muggle, since none of them gave me a second glance. There was one woman, with glasses and her brown hair in a bun, who looked at me curiously, but I studiously ignored her and she turned away.  
  
The Leaky Cauldron wasn't too far away, well within walking distance, and I didn't draw one curious look on my way there. The things in the street, which looked like carriages without horses, confused me for a moment, before I remembered what they were called. Cars, I believe the word was. I had once overheard some Muggleborn Ravenclaw trying to explain them to his classmates, so I had some idea about what they were. Some people looked at me strangely when I stopped and stared at the cars, trying to keep from dropping my jaw to my feet when one of them drove by.  
  
After one rather scary-looking individual bumped into me, I fled into the safety of the Leaky Cauldron. It was so much darker in there than out in the blazing sun that I had to stop for a moment to let my vision adjust to the light. All conversations in the dark corners ceased for a minute after I came in, but when they had all taken a good look at me and realised I was about as normal as themselves, the muttering sound of several quiet discussions started up again. The barkeep started polishing glasses as if he'd never stopped.  
  
I walked through the pub and out on the other side. After moving around the rubbish bins, I reached the brick wall and tapped the right bricks to get through. It opened up and I was greeted with the sight of Diagon Alley, one of the most wonderful places in the magical world. It seemed that even the impending war hadn't done much to change it: People still wandered through the street and talked. People still are ice-cream at Florean Fortesque's, and coming out of Eyelop's Owl Emporium with newly bought pets, despite the fact that the magical world had been unofficially at war for over a year. And in the middle of this oasis of calm lay Gringotts, a white vision of the very essence of banks everywhere.  
  
I must have looked rather lost in the large hall with my worn trunk and my stripped down version of a Hogwarts' uniform. The other customers of the bank gave me looks, ranging from curious to disgusted, in the manner of crowds everywhere, and turned back to their business. I walked up to the closest free goblin and cleared my throat. The goblin made a show of ignoring me for a few seconds, but since I didn't go away, he put down his quill and looked me.  
  
"I'm here to make a withdrawal," I said.  
  
"Name and vault number." The goblin said.  
  
"Blaise Zabini, vault 314."  
  
"How much would you like to withdraw?" The goblin asked, sounding incredibly bored.  
  
"Five hundred galleons." It was a rather large amount just to live through the summer, considering that rooms at the Leaky Cauldron were cheap and our school books weren't going to cost that much, but I wanted to be sure and I wanted to have extra money for unforeseen expenses.  
  
"Follow Bloodaxe, and he will take you to your vault." The goblin said after getting over the surprise of a sixteen year old withdrawing five hundred galleons from a private account without raising an eyebrow.  
  
I've always disliked riding in the tiny mine-wagons down to the vaults beneath Gringotts, mostly due to the lack of control the goblins seem to have. I held on as tightly as I could and closed my eyes and willed myself not to vomit. Somehow, I didn't think the goblin Bloodaxe would appreciate that very much. When the bone-rattling ride finally ended and I opened my eyes again, we were so far below ground that the air was cold. Bloodaxe, horribly cheerful for just having suffered through the nightmarish ride, jumped off the wagon and up on the platform next to vault 314 and turned to me.  
  
"Key?" He said, smiling the most goblin-ish smile I'd ever seen.  
  
"Here." I handed it to him, trying to fight down the nausea.  
  
"Thank you." He opened the heavy door with a touch of his crooked fingers, and stepped aside.  
  
Somehow, I managed to calm the shaking of my legs long enough to walk into the vault, pick up my requested five hundred galleons and walk out again. As if he had realised my fear of the ride, the way back was much slower and didn't jerk and jump so horribly. When we finally reached the surface again, I shook his hand and walked shakily out the door. My legs felt like I'd been hit by the Jelly-Legs hex.  
  
The Leaky Cauldron patrons didn't take nearly as much time staring at me the second time I came in, dragging my trunk on the floor. I walked up to the bar, and cleared my throat to get the attention of the barkeep who, true to the nature of barkeeps all over the multi-verse, was still polishing glasses.  
  
"Excuse me?" I said.  
  
"Yes?" He didn't stop polishing the glass.  
  
"How much would it cost to rent a room here until the first of September?"  
  
"Some Sickles every night," He shrugged. "So, it about adds up to thirty galleons by the end of August."  
  
I put thirty galleons on the bar, avoiding some of the less savoury sticky puddles on it.  
  
"If there's anything missing from that amount, we'll make it up at the end of August." I said.  
  
"You can take room number twelve." He handed me a key before grabbing the galleons. "It's just been cleaned."  
  
"Thank you." I said, taking the key and trudging up the stairs.  
  
The room was clean and nice, if a bit small. But it wasn't as if I was staying for the rest of my life, so it would do perfectly until September. I dumped my trunk on the bed and headed downstairs again, my stomach forcibly reminding me that it had been five hours since I ate last, and that had been a measly toast. The situation called for something more substantial, like ice-cream. Preferably chocolate-flavoured. Florean Fortesque's looked like it would be my next stop.  
  
A quarter of an hour later found me sitting at one of the round tables outside Florean Fortesque's, waiting for one of the waiters to notice me. Fortesque's was one of the few ice-cream bars I knew of that employed waiters, but it was a large place, and had a lot of customers, so I suppose it made sense. One of them finally noticed me and stopped by my table.  
  
"What would you like?" She asked in a bored voice and I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes. Waiters were the same everywhere.  
  
"Chocolate and lemon ice-cream." I said.  
  
"Cone or plate?"  
  
"Plate."  
  
"Small, medium or large?"  
  
"As large as you can make it." A grin appeared on my face as she wrinkled her nose and then tried to pretend she hadn't. She jotted the order down on a notepad and disappeared into the building.  
  
I got my ice-cream and watched passers-by as I ate it slowly. There were few things that were better than the first ice-cream of summer holidays, and I fully intended to enjoy it as much as possible. Some red-headed woman, looking like she might be related to the Weasley's, walked past on the street, eyeing the robes in Madam Malkin's. I stopped eating for a moment and just stared. If that was anything like Ginny Weasley would look like when she grew up, the boys of the world were in serious trouble. Somewhere at the back of my mind, some long-forgotten voice of sanity protested that this woman was unreal: there weren't any red-headed veelas for one. She turned and looked at me, smiled, and walked away.  
  
Shaking off the ghostly feeling I got when she looked at me like that, I set about finishing my ice-cream. There had been something wrong about her, but I couldn't for the life of me figure out what it was. I'd probably figure it out when I had to. In the meantime, I was going to finish my ice- cream, look at the other people, and enjoy my first day of summer properly.  
  
Mixing chocolate with lemon wasn't very traditional, but I wasn't a very traditional person. I got some strange looks, and some little child stared at me in shock before whispering loudly to her mother about what a strange person I was, but I merely grinned and kept eating. In a world where everyone went in straight lines, it was incredibly amusing to proceed in a curve. It was refreshing to see people's reactions, if nothing else.  
  
With an empty plate and nothing particular I had to do, I remained seated at Fortesque's and simply admired the scenery.  
  
Summer had truly begun.  
  
''''''''''''''''  
  
Ending Notes: A bit of a short chapter this time, but we'll be moving the plot right along as soon as possible. I hope you liked this more light hearted chapter. I'm tired of torturing Blaise. For the moment, at least. 


	33. The Assembling of a Library

The sun beat down on the cobblestones of Diagon Alley like a hammer on an anvil, but inside the dingy shop situated between Eyelop's and Ollivander's, it was as cool as it had been in the vaults beneath Gringotts. The shop sold everything from books to potion supplies to clothing, and I was thumbing through their robe-section. Having unpacked a bit, (i.e: pulled out the things I would need the most and scattered them all over the floor) I had realised that I didn't have nearly enough clothing to make it through the summer, unless I wanted to wear a hole in my only two Hogwarts' uniforms.  
  
Which was the reason for my clothing hunt in the tiny store. It was so tiny that it didn't even have a name, and was staffed by a man so old he could have been Dumbledore's grandfather. Since Madam Malkin's charged ridiculous rates for anything that wasn't strictly part of the Hogwarts' uniform, and in any case had a hideously long deliverance time, I had been forced to look elsewhere for already finished clothing or cheaper cloth. By the end of the alley, I had been reduced to fervently wishing for needle and thread, as well as the skill to make my own clothing. It seemed Madam Malkin's had some sort of monopoly on Diagon Alley, and I didn't dare venture down Knockturn. I wasn't that stupid, or that desperate.  
  
The clothing sold at the tiny store was very different from what was offered in Madam Malkin's, or in Gladrags for that matter. It seemed to have been made with another purpose than mere elegance in mind: where the Hogwarts' uniform and everything else offered in Madam Malkin's strived to achieve beauty, there was a functionality and endurance in the cut of these robes that wasn't so common any more. I found a dark green robe, cut to fall just beneath the knees, at least on me, and the old man assured me that it changed size to fit a potential buyer, so I suppose that it was the original intention as well.  
  
With some various shirts and some trousers, I picked out the green robe and a similar black one, and put them on the counter for purchase. They cost a shockingly fifteen Sickles altogether, and I inquired as to why they were to cheap. The old man grinned at me, snatching the money and putting them under the counter before answering.  
  
"Because they belonged to a dead man," he said.  
  
Well, that was reasonable. Most people wouldn't want to wear the clothing of a dead man. My only criteria for wearing it was that the dead man wouldn't be allowed in them with me. I put the clothes in a bag and walked out of the shop and into the sunshine. It was an interesting contrast, all things considered. I might have to go back to that shop some day: it had had a rather interesting collection of maps on one of the walls.  
  
My rented room was a complete mess. Most of the time I was somewhat neat, but this time my unpacking process had consisted mainly of opening my trunk as wide as possible and turning it upside down over the floor. Most of it hadn't been unpacked since the previous summer, so I found things in there I thought I'd lost. Like a pair of boots I thought I'd lost in the fire, which still fit, and had probably been packed in there for two years, of not more. After a moment of thought, I pulled them on. The shoes I'd been wearing since I turned fifteen had taken a bad turn in the Forbidden Forest, and were next to shredded. My uniform wasn't much better, so I exchanged it for one of the shirts I'd bought and a pair of trousers, and, as to not stick out too horribly in the crowd, put on one of the robes I'd bought as well.  
  
As an afterthought, I strapped on my wrist-sheath and put my wand in it. I might be able to do most things without it, but Lucas had specifically asked me to use it as much as possible, and the green fire in the forest had scared the wits out of me. Better not attempt it again and draw attention to myself. Or to the scorched buildings I was apt to leave behind.  
  
"With my luck, I'll be a pair of smoking boots on the cobblestones by the end of the week," I told myself as I surveyed my image in the mirror. Pleased that I wasn't looking too much like an Azkaban-runaway, I turned and walked out the door.  
  
In my dead man's clothing and my forgotten boots, I drew a few startled glances. The clothing was out of date, and stuck out somewhat among the stylish, modern robes, but it was mainly the fact that I looked like I'd been sleeping on the street that made them look twice. Hair that is always in dire need of a haircut, looking somewhat like the love-child of a crow's nest and a Puffskein tends to do that. Time and time again I'd attempted to smooth it down, but it hadn't worked, so I more or less gave up. Unfortunately, the messy hair that I was forced to suffer made me resemble Potter to some extent. The only difference really were our heights, (where I was much taller) our eye-colour, (where mine was freakish, while his was if an odd colour then at least the same on both eyes) and our facial features (My nose was larger, my face was more triangular and of course, the lack of scar tissue on my forehead). While my notice of these differences, especially in the matter of facial features, might make me seem like an obsessive stalker, it was simply things one noticed after six years of school together.  
  
One little boy though, who resembled Longbottom but ten years younger, clung to his mother's hand and stared at me in awe. I raised my eyebrow, but didn't go out of my way to appear threatening. I could leave the scaring of little children to the likes of Voldemort.  
  
"A-are you H-harry Potter?" The boy whispered.  
  
"Do I look like Harry Potter?" I asked acidly.  
  
"Yes." The little boy replied promptly.  
  
"No, I don't," I denied. This was the first time I'd ever gotten compared to Potter, but in so small a child, it could be forgiven. "Potter is shorter than I am, and he has green eyes. I only have one green eye. Look, the other one's blue." I pointed. "And if you've ever seen Potter, or even a photograph of him, you'd know I don't look a thing like him."  
  
"Yes you do." The boy contradicted me. "I seen him."  
  
"But I'm not Potter." I snapped, fighting to keep my crumbling calm. "Potter isn't a Slytherin."  
  
The boy shrank away as if I'd spoken Voldemort's name out loud. With a slightly bitter smile, I straightened up again and walked across the street to Flourish & Blott's, to see if they had any interesting books. A memory slammed into my mind with the force of a well-placed Stunning Charm: Hermione still had the book Millicent had gotten me for Christmas. I still had my own, battered and worn copy somewhere, probably in my trunk, but she had the new copy of it. A smile that was nothing short of evil appeared on my lips. I'd like to see her explain that one to Potter and Weasley.  
  
Without paying too much attention to where I was going, I had wandered into the Muggle Literature section of Flourish & Blott's. Books of various sizes and colours lined the bookcases. Finnegan's Wake, Neverwhere, To Kill A Mockingbird, The Scarlet Letter, the names were all unfamiliar. I picked the closest one that seemed interesting: The Picture of Dorian Gray. A few pages into the book I put it down, wondering to myself if the author was homosexual. The implications made in the book certainly suggested that that was the case. Wandering out of the section again, I headed for the back of the shop, which was where they kept more advanced books, such as guides to Defence Against the Dark Arts. Le Feuvre's Compendium of Curses was the most dangerous book they kept in Flourish & Blott's.  
  
If one wanted darker books, or simply books on the Dark Arts, Knockturn Alley was the place to go. But since I wanted to defend myself, and perhaps find a way to tone down the wandless magic somewhat, Flourish & Blott's was good enough for me. Some minutes were spent perusing the shelves, and I came back with just Le Feuvre's Compendium of Curses, as well as one ancient book on mind-magic. One quick venture into the Muggle section brought out a volume on psychology and mind-control. The cashier gave me a curious look, but let me pay for my purchases without uncomfortable questions.  
  
Resolved to keep my magic in check, I made the brief walk to Fortesque's to buy a cone of ice-cream, and then headed back to the Leaky Cauldron. If I started studying the Muggle psychology, it might give me some basis to experiment. If I went insane, well, so much better for the world not to suffer my absolute incompetence at life. St. Mungo's would have to make space for another vegetable in their insanity ward, but I wouldn't take up too much room. And if I didn't go insane, I might well earn a better hold on magic. Merlin knew it would be a relief from the constant headaches and weariness of the last year.  
  
I reached the Leaky Cauldron, the ice-cream cone consumed, and climbed the stairs to my room. I settled down on the messy bed and pulled out the Muggle book I'd bought. It was time to study. Strangely enough, we hadn't gotten much in the way of summer homework, neither from McGonagall, Vector or Flitwick. When asked about summer essays, Lucas had only stared blankly before asking when the next meal was. Obviously the reply had been designed to annoy keen students, since Lucas ate about as much as a dead Flobberworm, and had no interest in when the next meal was.  
  
"´The human mind is, as has been stated at various times, a complex thing.´" I muttered aloud as I read the first page. "Sounds promising. I don't think I've ever seen a mind as complex as mine."  
  
I read for a long time. It was a heavy book, but by the time the rumbling of my stomach called me back to reality, I was a third of the way through it. It was immensely interesting, and though I wasn't nearly finished with it, I had learned many interesting things. The author mentioned often that he or she had studied Buddhism, which seemed to be a Muggle religion, which leaned heavily on meditation and focusing of thoughts and such. Since the author also claimed that the discipline was very effective, I decided to get myself books on meditation as soon as the book stores opened again.  
  
Insanity was probably the only reason for my sudden interesting Muggle literature and religion. The threat of obtaining insanity, that was. If the thing stopping me from going insane would be moving to China and eat nothing but rice for the rest of my life, I would do so. The only thing I drew the line at was turning into a Death Eater, with or without the Mark. Raping, torturing and killing people was jumping off the edge with a smile on your face.  
  
"Have you eaten at all today, boy?" The barkeep asked me when I came downstairs.  
  
"I had some ice-cream around lunch-time. Does that count?" I smiled.  
  
"It most certainly does not!" He snapped. "Edith! Bring out some of that soup! We've got a fellow here who really needs it."  
  
I was forced to take a seat at the bar, a bowl of soup in front of me, and the barkeep's wife fussing over me as if I'd hurt myself. A few disapproving glances were sent my way by the barkeep, but as I finished the soup, he was looking a lot more cheerful. That might have been because he sneaked sips of whiskey from the bottles when his wife wasn't watching, though. After an hour or so, I was warmed up, (my room was somewhat cold at night, as I'd discovered) well fed and a lot more cheerful. Over the hour, I had learned that the barkeep's name was Tom, and that he and his wife Edith had two grown sons living in Sussex, and a daughter aged fifteen, who was being home schooled. Home schooling was a rare thing in the magical world, since Hogwarts was considered both the safest place in Britain, and a good start in life. The daughter herself made a brief appearance, was introduced as Alexandra, blushed at me and disappeared. A feeling of dread settled in my stomach.  
  
"Oh dear." Tom sighed. "Don't look now lad, but I think you've got yourself an admirer."  
  
"Oh hell no!" I exclaimed before I could stop myself. "Anything but that! ....Er, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."  
  
"It's quite alright," Edith smiled. "I'm sure it's nothing serious anyway. But I suppose a boy like you must already have a girlfriend."  
  
"Er, no." I admitted, trying to push down the feeling that I should be blushing. "I don't. But that's not the point. It's just that right now is not a good time for admirers, girls or girlfriends at all, for that matter."  
  
"Busy man are you?" Tom inquired.  
  
"Living on my own does take up some of the time," I admitted, glad for the excuse he provided. "And since I'm going back to Hogwarts come September and probably not coming again, things might get a little hairy."  
  
"Perfectly understandable." Edith nodded. "I fancied a boy when I was fifteen, and he went away to seas after two months. He was smart enough not to start anything with me, or I'd have been heartbroken when he left."  
  
"Right," I muttered, trying to avoid going in too deep on the subject. When it was first brought up, the things that had flashed through my mind were, by chronological order, the green fire in the woods, the interior of a St. Mungo's ward, and Hermione. "Well, I'm rather tired, and I have quite a lot of work to do, so I'll be heading off to sleep now. Thank you so much for the soup. How much do I owe you?"  
  
"Oh, don't be silly," Edith laughed. "You don't owe us anything! It was only a bowl of soup, and you would have fallen over without it. It's on the house."  
  
"Thanks again." I said before heading back upstairs to my book and my bed.  
  
I stripped out of my clothing tiredly, suddenly struck with the fatigue I'd been saving up from Christmas. It was hard to move in the limited space of my tiny room, but I managed. Most of the floor was taken up by the bed and the dresser, and there was only a small, square spot to stand on and move around in before bumping into the full-body mirror that someone had dumped in there. Before collapsing head-long on my bed, I took a look at myself in the mirror.  
  
It was a depressing sight. Stripped down to my boxers, I could clearly see that I was much too thin. I could easily count my ribs, and my underwear hung onto my hips only by accident. I was all sharp angles, pale skin and seemed to consist mostly of legs and arms. The thatch-like nest of curls that was my poor excuse for hair was nestled on top of what looked to be a bean-pole, and that was the most accurate description I could think of for my body. Scars ran down my arms, looking like a spider-web's trickery, and a hundred tiny cuts had produced an image of a worn boy, despite the fact that I wasn't even eighteen. A large, nasty-looking scar crossed my ribcage, from my left shoulder down to my right hip, a constant reminder of what a silly and stupid child I had been at the age of five. I'd been looking for the partridge in the pear-tree in our orchard, and fallen down clumsily. It seemed so long ago now.  
  
With a weak smile, I turned away from the mirror and stopped counting my scars. Keeping count had lost its point: perhaps when I had been through gruelling horrors, and the scars meant something, I'd start counting them again. For now, I'd simply view them as cuts that had grown old. I was out like a light before I hit the pillow, and didn't even register the fact that I was still wearing my socks.  
  
''''''''''''''  
  
A week went by in much the same fashion. I'd wake up, read some more, go out for a combined breakfast/lunch – mostly consisting of ice-cream – before retiring to my room again and reading until a late dinner. I didn't see much of Alexandra, thankfully, but then I didn't see much of anyone. Every time I ventured outside the Leaky Cauldron, or indeed outside my room, people gave me strange looks. Perhaps it was the vaguely fanatical look in my eye, or just the fact that despite the Washing Charms performed on my clothing they were still wrinkled, but whatever the reason, it made me feel out of place.  
  
I'd extended my personal library from the initial three books to include volumes on mediation, as well as a more comprehensive guide to mind- blockage, a discipline not much different from Occlumency, (I'd looked it up) and sounding a lot more simple. The mind-blockage sounded as if it might help keeping the wandless magic checked: while it was mainly to prevent outside interference, it did have two chapters devoted to the control of the magical channels in oneself. As an afterthought, I had also added a thin book detailing some of the earliest endeavours of Merlin, thinking it might help to know what others had dealt with to deal with my own problems.  
  
I was nose-deep in my latest purchase, reading about Merlin and his travels through Scotland as a boy, and didn't notice I had taken a wrong turn until too late. When the tip of my boot hit a rise in the pavement that shouldn't have been there, I finally tore myself from the book and looked around. An Apothecary sign with a broken arm on it told me I was no longer in Diagon Alley. The witch with teeth like tombstones gave me further hints that I should be running as fast as I could in the opposite direction. Stuffing the book in my pocket, I attempted to look as calm as possible, and turned around.  
  
Just as I had assumed, I had wandered into Knockturn Alley. On the other end of a twisting, narrow alley, filled to capacity with suspicious looking people, was the opening into the familiar, sun-washed street. The best, and probably only, thing I could do was to walk back there looking as confident as possible. The slightest indication of fear would have these wolves chewing on my bones. It was rather like the finely-tuned political games we'd played in the Snake Pit before the second war began. Confidence was everything, and fear would mean excommunication for weeks.  
  
As I put one foot in front of the other, starting my too long walk back, some of the stories related to children about Knockturn Alley returned to me. There were potion-stores in there that could provide the most elaborate poisons if requested, and the buyers wouldn't bat an eyelash before using them. There were men who would sell their fellow men just to get another kick, another high. The rag-and-bone shops were just that: they sold rags and the bones of people who got lost in the wrong street.  
  
Amazingly, my walk back to more familiar and safe streets went well. Some strange individuals, which was the best word to describe them, tried to get me to buy things: eyeballs, nails, teeth and the heads of dead cats mostly, but I managed to decline their offerings politely enough for them to accept it quietly. One woman, a blonde with altogether too little fabric in her clothing, tried to interest me into buying her for an hour, but I did my best to pretend I hadn't heard her. I had better things to spend my galleons on. The trick was to keep walking: never to stop, even when some old crone stepped out into the alley right in front of me.  
  
Draco had told me of his visits to Knockturn Alley with his father. He had been twelve at the time, and now I seriously doubted the tales he had brought back: a twelve year old would have been petrified in here without someone like Lucius Malfoy accompanying them. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed someone detached themselves from the shadows and started following me. The cold lump of fear that sometimes visited me seemed to take up permanent residence in the pit of my stomach: despite Tom and Edith's insistence, I hadn't been taking meals regularly, and having spent a lot of my time being trampled, broken down or attacked by random classmates, my condition wasn't very good. Today's outing had only been supposed to be a short one, so that I could go back to my room, eat something, and recover somewhat before studying.  
  
Hastening my steps without thinking about it, I attempted to turn the last corner and enter Diagon Alley again without fuss, but my notoriously bad luck had decided not to leave me quite yet. Just as I took the last step out into the sunlight, a hand clamped down on my shoulder and dragged me back in. A filthy hand wrapped over my mouth to keep me from screaming, through I struggled to do so.  
  
For the first time in a week, it felt as if insanity had just come around the corner.  
  
''''''''''''''  
  
Ending Notes: Bit of a cliffhanger, I know, and a short chapter, but hopefully the next one will be longer. I can't promise anything, but if I didn't cut off this chapter, this scene there, it would have run on for twenty pages, and I wouldn't be getting any sleep. 


	34. Dragged Back Into the Dark

The sunlight of the open street grew distanced as I was dragged back into Knockturn Alley. As my temple hit the rough stone wall, everything faded to black for a moment. When my mind resurfaced from unconsciousness, my vision was blurry and my head throbbed just like it did right before a break-down. I was on my knees, my back against one of the walls, and there was someone standing over me. Someone with a club in their hands. I went cold: the chance of me getting out of Knockturn Alley were rapidly disappearing.  
  
Fighting down the nausea that always heralded a breakdown, I got shakily to my feet. My head was swimming, and my hands shook, but I had more important things to concentrate on. Like surviving long enough to get out of the alley, for example. I had my back against the wall, and as my vision cleared, I saw that there were more than one man trying to bring me down. Some of them, like the first, had clubs or the like, while others seemed to prefer their fists. If only I wasn't so dizzy, I might have had a chance: as it was now, with blood running down the side of my face, and my body so weak after weeks of injuries and lack of food, I'd be in luck if I got past the first man.  
  
The club headed for my face was avoided by ducking desperately out of the way, nearly falling to my knees again. I tried to push my way between two of them, out into the sunlight again, but someone threw an arm around my neck and nearly strangled me. I choked and my vision went blurry once more, dragged back into the dark. Dredging up reserves I didn't know I had, I twisted and pulled, getting out of his grasp somehow, and spun on my heels, my back now against the sunlight, facing my attackers.  
  
A small crowd had gathered to watch gleefully as the Knockturn residents beat me up, and at the back of the crowd, I could see the red-headed woman whom I'd first assumed was a veela. She was laughing wildly, and the sense of unease came over me again, just by looking at her. I would have watched her more closely, but she disappeared into the crowd and one of the men swung another punch at me. I ducked out of the way, caught his wrist and twisted, no longer thinking about what I was doing. I kicked, punched and bit like an enraged cat, twisting and ducking, and, at one memorable moment, pushing myself off the ground before planting a foot in the ribcage of one of my attackers.  
  
I felt like I would pass out at any moment when my attackers finally backed off, probably only to catch their breaths before having another go at me. This time, I vowed to myself, I'd be prepared for it. Lifting my hands, I prepared for the infamous last stand. Just like in the Forbidden Forest with the Graphorn, the knowledge that I wouldn't come out of this alive came over me. Shrugging my wand out of the wrist-sheath I wore, I tried to remember a useful spell, but the throbbing headache had driven them out of my mind.  
  
"This is just the highlight of my day," A voice informed us all from behind me. "I come to look for you, after having to go through the trouble of finding out where you'd run off to, and I find you fighting in the street in Knockturn Alley."  
  
Lucas. Who else would it be but him? But he had never been as welcome as he was now: the crowd seemed to thin out and disappear at his words, leaving only the men who had attacked me standing there uncertainly.  
  
"It isn't by choice," I said, spitting out some of the blood that was pooling in my mouth.  
  
"I figured." He said, stepping up beside me. "Now, gentlemen, I'm sure you have better things to do with your time than to beat up my student."  
  
They took one look at him and disappeared into the shadows. I straightened back up and slipped my wand back into my sleeve, wiping ineffectually at the blood trickling down the side of my face and out of the corner of my mouth. Lucas picked up my bag from Flourish & Blott's, grabbed my shoulder and dragged me out into Diagon Alley again. My fingers were cramping, and I tried my best to pry them apart again, but they rather looked like claws.  
  
"Have you lost your mind, Zabini?"  
  
"I don't think so," I said miserably, clutching the sides of my head. "But it seems to be going right about now."  
  
"What the hell were you doing in Knockturn Alley, you weak-minded child?" He demanded, sounding more upset than I had even heard him.  
  
"I didn't mean to: I'd just bought some books, and was reading one of them on the way back to the Leaky Cauldron, and took a wrong turn," I said desperately. My headache was escalating into the unbearable.  
  
"Do you have any idea what goes on in there?" Lucas snapped, ignoring my explanation. "Borgin & Burke's isn't half of it, and they keep severed hands of thieves in there."  
  
"I think I'm going to be sick." I announced in a small voice, doubling over suddenly.  
  
"Oh now you aren't." Lucas hauled me upright again. "Not in the middle of the street you're not."  
  
He led me, or rather dragged me, inside the Leaky Cauldron and up the narrow stairs to my tiny room. I had opted to wear my uniform and school- robes that morning, so most of the clothing I'd bought were lying in a tangled heap on the floor. Muttering about messy teenagers, Lucas kicked it out of the way and dumped me on the bed. I curled up the best I could while still remaining upright, and bent over. A bucket procured from somewhere was shoved between my feet, and I let the nausea take over.  
  
When it was finally over, the bucket was taken away, Lucas muttered some spell, and I felt clean again. The taste of vomit disappeared from my mouth, as well as the lingering taste of my own blood. Not that the worst of the headache was over, I could feel the itching of bruises forming on my chest and back, and the sting of bloodied knuckles. Straightening up gingerly, stopping every now and then, anticipating the nausea that didn't strike, I sat up straight again. Lucas was towering over me in the manner of tall people everywhere, arms crossed and glaring. For a split-second, he looked afraid, but then he quickly masked it up with a rarely seen anger.  
  
"Thanks." I managed weakly.  
  
"I would say that you're welcome, but I don't ever want to deal with this again." He snapped. "I don't wish to get into the habit of patching up my students. If that was the case, I would have become a Healer, not a Defence teacher."  
  
"I'm sorry," I whispered, to my horror choking on the words and feeling like I would break down in tears at any moment. "I didn't mean t-to br-reak down l-like t-this."  
  
"Calm down, Zabini," he crouched down on the floor. "This is not the time to fall apart. You will get time for that later, but now is not that moment. I'm going to patch up your face as best I can, then we're going to bring some order in this chaos of a room, and then we're going to eat. The rest we can figure out later."  
  
He sounded so unlike himself, much more like a caring older brother than the towering enraged teacher he had been only moments ago.  
  
A few quick healing spells later, and my face was as good as new. Lucas found my trunk and started putting my newly acquired library in it, while I untangled the clothing and brought some semblance of order to the floor. After I was finished, Lucas led me downstairs, deposited me at a table and ordered lunch. It all happened so quickly that I didn't even have time to protest that I could pay for myself. Lucas, as usual, ate like a midget, while I tried to eat slower than my hunger demanded. Everything put in front of me gradually disappeared, until even Edith claimed she'd be ruined if she fed me any more.  
  
"Is there no bottom to your stomach, Zabini?" He asked after a while.  
  
"At the moment, no." I said, finishing off a sandwich. "Why are you here? It isn't as if it's normal procedure for Hogwarts teachers to come check up on students over the holidays. Unless the student's Potter, of course."  
  
"You're a walking disaster," he reminded me. "I came to check up on you because I didn't know ho you were doing, and I needed to know if you were close to a breakdown or not. Apparently you were closer than I thought."  
  
"No I wasn't," I protested. "Normally, I'd be burning houses and exploding things about now, but I'm not. I just got nauseous, got a headache, things like that. If I had a real breakdown, Knockturn Alley would be burning."  
  
"I suppose." He looked thoughtful. "But leaving you here would be an unneeded liability. Your training has been severely lacking over the school year: mere theoretical discussions and self-practise doesn't seem to be enough."  
  
"What do you suggest I do then? It's not as if I've had much choice!" I snapped.  
  
"I suggest that I will personally monitor your training from now on. Despite your efforts, some magic leaked out of your control, which it probably the only reason to why you are sitting here right now." Lucas looked deadly serious. "But a rented room at the Leaky Cauldron isn't the ideal place for wandless magic training."  
  
"And where should I relocate to? Greenland?" I knew I was being childish, but today hadn't been a good day, and breakdowns didn't make it any better.  
  
"No. I was thinking Scotland," Lucas said smoothly. "I happen to be taking care of a rather large house, on a rather large, abandoned moor, which should ensure enough privacy."  
  
"You're talking about your house, aren't you?" I asked gloomily. He nodded. "Figures. Well, what doesn't kill me only makes me stronger. Or, in my case, makes me throw up and burn things. Fine, I'll go, but I can't promise to be on my best behaviour."  
  
"We're leaving as soon as you've packed." He said. "I'll be waiting right here."  
  
Grumbling to myself, I trudged up the stairs and started throwing things into my trunk with more force than needed. I had just been more or less ordered to spend the summer at my professor's house. A rather unpleasant professor at that. While Hermione would have jumped at the chance, no matter what professor, I was more hesitant. My summer wouldn't consist of writing essays or doing homework: it would be bone-hard training from the beginning to the end. I'd be sweating blood before I came back to Hogwarts.  
  
Seeing as next year was our N.E.W.T-year, Lucas' promise that there would be a time to break down seemed far off. Perhaps even as far as next summer. Suddenly, going insane seemed like a viable option. But Lucas probably wouldn't be allowing any time off for insanity. He wouldn't allow time off, period. Stuffing the last things into my trunk and snapping it shut, I went downstairs again. Lucas was still sitting at the table, nursing a cup of coffee and staring at the wall.  
  
"I've packed." I announced dully as I stopped by the table, not sitting down.  
  
"So I see. We're going for a little walk." Lucas said, putting down his cup and throwing some Knuts on the table.  
  
Into Diagon Alley again, he led the way down the street, the crowd parting before him seemingly without thinking about it. He seemed to radiate a field of intense privacy, so strong that even people who weren't looking directly at him felt it so strongly that they stepped aside for him. He passed Flourish & Blott's, Madam Malkin's, Fortesque's, Quidditch Supplies and Ollivanders without a second glance, and turned sharply just before reaching Gringotts. The narrow street we ended up in was nearly empty of people, and there weren't any shop-signs. In the most bland of doors, a man was standing, looking perfectly ordinary, but when he saw Lucas and me, he smiled.  
  
"We were waiting for you, Vincent." He said.  
  
"I had someone to take care of," Lucas replied, gesturing towards me. "A bit of complications, bit it's handled now."  
  
A bit annoyed at being treated like a complication, I wondered silently at why we were in this nondescript street talking to this nondescript man standing in his nondescript doorway. It made no sense, because Lucas had said his house was in Scotland, and as far as I knew, this wasn't Scotland. It wasn't even the way to Scotland. Lucas and the nameless man went inside, and not wanting to be left alone again, I hurriedly followed.  
  
The only way to describe the room was, just as with the man and the street and the door way, nondescript. It was normal. It was so normal that not even Muggles would comment on it. In fact, if it wasn't because he lived off Diagon Alley, I'd believe the man was a Muggle. I was invited to sit down in one of the bland armchairs while the man and Lucas disappeared through a door which shut tightly behind them. And the rest of the wait was silence. Not even the ticking of the clock could disturb me any more.  
  
I spent the time mapping out my face with my fingertips. Lucas' healing spells had done their job, but they were quick, patchwork almost, and the cut at my temple had already become a scar. Had Madam Pomfrey healed me, there wouldn't be so much as a mark, but I found I didn't care. I'd survived a fight in Knockturn Alley, and even if the war would throw worse at me, that might well have been the only preparation I would get.  
  
Lucas returned from the room some ten minutes later and swept out the door without a word. The owner of the house seemed to have disappeared, but I took off running after Lucas immediately, so I could just have missed him. Whatever Lucas had done in that room, he didn't even offer a raised eyebrow of explanation when I caught up with him. Instead, he just hurried back towards the Leaky Cauldron and the crowd parted to let him through once more.  
  
Annoying, that habit was.  
  
''''''''''  
  
After a nauseating ride through the marvel that was Floo systems, I tumbled out onto a green carpet in a room much too large for the amount of furniture in it. Lucas made a much more controlled entrance, and brushed away the ashes on his robes calmly. It was obvious that he was familiar with the room, and dismissed them as such: I wasn't quite to ready with letting it go.  
  
The sheer expanse of the floor reminded me of our house, the one that had burned down, but we had had more furniture in the rooms. My mother would never have accepted to put a rug in the middle of a room, dump two armchairs and a table on it, and leave the rest of the room bare. Lucas looked at me in something akin to amusement in his eyes, and I shut my mouth with a snap. It came as a surprise that Lucas would live in a place such as this: I'd always imagined he's live in some dark and dreary castle somewhere, with a mess of books, poisons and sufficiently killed chocolate around him. This place, while suitably elegant, seemed much to light and cheerful for the likes of him.  
  
But then again, it had probably belonged to his family for generations, so it wasn't really his place to change it.  
  
"Finished gaping like a fish now?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Yes." I tried not to sound surprised, and succeeded reasonably well.  
  
"Good. There are a few ground rules you should be aware of before unpacking: While you are allowed to be up all night, I won't be forgiving on you in the morning. If you fall asleep in the middle of a lesson, it's your loss, and will probably result in a few bruises on your part." The expression on his face said clearly that he would be delivering these bruises. "Protesting that teacher/student abuse is outlawed won't help, since, during summer, I'm not technically your teacher, and you are not my student. And believe me, those bruises will be well earned."  
  
"I bet." I muttered, putting my trunk on the floor.  
  
"Further, there are certain areas of the house you're not allowed in, which ones will be explained later." He continued as if I hadn't spoken. "The kitchen is downstairs, and if you're hungry, you'll have to cook for yourself. The House-Elves left years ago, and I can't be bothered to cook for you, or for me, for that matter. I believe that at your age, you should be able to cook to feed yourself. If you have questions about the education you will receive, you're of course allowed to bring them up to me, but don't expect me to listen to all of it. Understood?"  
  
"Perfectly." I said. "You sound a lot like a teacher. Be proud of yourself."  
  
"Thank you," he nodded, "You will be staying on the second floor."  
  
"My, my, you're fast: I haven't been here five minutes and you've already arranged a room." I said, grinning. "Efficient."  
  
"Stop smirking: all you get is a desk and a bed." Lucas said. "And a box for your clothes. If you're lucky."  
  
If it hadn't been for the fact that he said it with such a straight face, I would have believed he was serious. No one could have a face as straight as that when actually being serious. It turned out that his concept of "a box for your clothes" consisted of a whole wardrobe. Sometimes, I was sure he was making fun of me. Closing my eyes and wincing, I realised I wasn't thinking straight. I wasn't even thinking in circles, and on top of that, my headache hadn't gone away. Sleep was definitely in order.  
  
Unfortunately, Lucas was turning out to be a sadist, and wouldn't let me alone. He insisted, for some strange reason, that I needed to know my way around the house. It would have been nice if I had been properly awake, since I missed most of the grand tour and ended up falling asleep on my feet. In the living room. On the green rug. Lucas must have realised the futility in trying to wake me, since when I returned momentarily to reality I was sitting in one of the armchairs. Grateful that I was no longer lying on the floor, I passed back into sleep and stayed there.  
  
'''''''  
  
Ending Notes: This might not be the best chapter I have ever written, but it furthered the plot somewhat. And made me realise I'd have to revise some of the third part's plot. Gah. Glodysnutsing gah. 


	35. A Temporal Masterpiece

The sun was just peeking over the horizon when I returned to the world of the waking. As soon as I'd opened my eyes, I squeezed them shut again, mentally cursing whoever came up with curtains that actually let the sun through. I groaned and wrapped my arms over my head, trying to shut out the light as much as possible. The sun was evil. It really was.  
  
"Gleargh," Was my first word of the day, which was about as articulate as I got before my first cup of coffee. "Cofffffeeee."  
  
Well, that was a plea heard most mornings from me. Uncurling from my back- breaking position in the armchair, I went on a hollow-eyed hunt for the nearest caffeine fix. Bits and pieces of yesterday's grand tour returned, but out of order and in fragments, so I had only a patchy idea of where I was going. Lucas had said the kitchens were downstairs. My room, which was where I'd left my only remotely clean clothing, was upstairs. But since he had told me abut the kitchen's location while on the living room level of the house, I assumed there were several floors.  
  
In my mind, beneath the major part that was screaming for coffee, I hoped it was downstairs, since it was much easier falling down the stairs than falling up. Blinking myopically, I stumbled down the closest set of narrow stairs I could find, and amazingly ended up in the kitchen. Thanks be to Merlin, a pot of coffee had been left on the table. Lucas must already be up, at this godforsaken hour of the morning. Ignoring all rules of conduct, I drank directly from the pot.  
  
Coffee burned down my throat like fire, making my eyes sting, but the benefits of inhaling such a large amount of hot coffee by far outweighed the setbacks. My sleep-blurred vision cleared, my head stopped pounding and I could stand up straight. Almost. A sharp-stabbing pain hit my temple, right where it had connected with the wall, and made me wince. Whatever skills Lucas had in healing, pain-killing wasn't one of them. The wound might be replaced by a scar, but the lingering pain was horrible.  
  
There was a sound, a tiny one but still there, behind me. Like someone dragging a fingertip over a tabletop. I froze, the hairs at the back of my neck rising, debating with myself whether or not I should turn around. Finally deciding it might be nice to know what was in the kitchen with me, and whether or not I should attempt to kill it or run away screaming, I turned around slowly. Someone was sitting at the table: that much I could see out of the corner of my eye, but not much more. Swallowing the somewhat calm realisation that I was scared to death, I turned the rest of the day.  
  
What came into view was Lucas, and at the same time it wasn't. The man was tall, I could see that clearly since he was leaning, not sitting, on the table. But he wasn't as tall as Lucas was. And he looked younger. Not by much, he might be in his mid-twenties, but aside from that, the resemblance was striking. The same face, though this man had a slightly larger nose. The same hair-colour, though this man wore it shorter than Lucas, at about shoulder length. And this man's eyes were blue, instead of the blood red of Lucas'. And he was grinning, eyes twinkling over the top of silver-rimmed spectacles, something Lucas never did.  
  
"´Welcome to my parlour,´ said the spider to the fly´," the man said, still grinning. Needless to say, I didn't grin back. It sounded as if he was quoting from somewhere. "I seem to have caught a coffee-thief."  
  
"And who the hell are you?" I asked, my voice rusty with sleep and disuse.  
  
"I am me." That grin was starting to get on my nerves, and once more it sounded as if he was quoting from somewhere. "And who are you?"  
  
"I'm someone who doesn't have patience for games at this ungodly hour of the morning," I growled. "Stop bothering me."  
  
"My, my, my," the man chuckled. "It isn't like my brother to bring home surly guests. It isn't like him to bring home guests at all, to be perfectly honest, but that's hardly the point."  
  
"Then what is the bloody point?" I hissed, before my slow brain caught onto what he said. "Wait – brother? Lucas has a brother? I thought he hatched in a cauldron!"  
  
"That's Vincent, and no, he wasn't hatched in a cauldron," the man said after he finally stopped laughing. "Though he certainly seems that way. Where is he? Still in bed?"  
  
"How should I know? I only just woke up." I griped, sipping some more coffee from the pot, no longer caring that I was being rude.  
  
It was a surreal feeling, standing there in a kitchen that wasn't mine, stealing coffee out of someone else's pot right in front of my most mysterious professor's brother. And his brother, for lack of a better word, seemed stark raving mad. Not the kind of insanity I was trying my best to avoid, which involved fire, brimstone and a lot of blood, but the kind of satisfied insanity that came from being so unpredictable that not even oneself knew what one would do next.  
  
"Well, if he isn't already awake, I'll just have to wake him up then," the man said with a glint of determination in his eyes. "Hope he doesn't throw me in the lake. You're welcome to the coffee by the way: I don't drink the stuff."  
  
I was left blinking as he walked out of the room, whistling a tune I didn't recognise. In a matter of ten minutes, I'd woken up, stumbled to the kitchen, met Professor Lucas' brother, drunk all their coffee and watched him walk out the door talking about how his brother would pitch him in the lake. At that point, the logical functions of my mind shut down for my own protection, and I was left with an empty coffee-pot and a lot of confusion. Desperate not to let insanity sneak up on me, I drained the last of the coffee in hopes of things becoming clearer when I was awake.  
  
With the coffee gone, it wasn't much better. I suddenly realised I had no shoes on. Or socks, for that matter, and that I was dressed in a badly wrinkled and filthy Hogwarts uniform. Whatever impression I had made on Lucas' brother, it hadn't been a good one. Deciding that being alone in a kitchen wouldn't help my confusion, I walked out of it, climbed the stairs and set about looking for someone or my room, whichever came first. The staircase seemed wider now than it had on my way down, something I was grateful for, because otherwise I wouldn't have fit through. By the time I was at the top of the stairs, I was lost once more, and it took me half an hour just to find the living room. From there, it was easy to find my room and change into some cleaner clothing. After a second of thought, I threw on the short cloak I'd bought, if only because the hallways were so cold. '  
  
Then, I went in search of Lucas.  
  
Either of them.  
  
'''''''''''''  
  
I found them some twenty minutes later. That was expected, in a way: no house could be infinitely large, and since I'd already ruled out the kitchen, the living room and most of the hallways, there wasn't much left to search. The condition I found them in was somewhat surprising, however: Lucas looked enraged, but in the same icy way I had been when I was released from the infirmary after the Graphorn attack, while his brother looked as happy as he had been when he encountered me in the kitchen.  
  
"What the hell are you doing here, Frederic?" Lucas asked, fighting for what little calm he had left.  
  
"I live here," his brother, apparently Frederic, said, gesturing with his arms wide open.  
  
"Not any more." The stony expression on Lucas face was frightening. "You moved out."  
  
"So did you," Frederic pointed out, "Seventeen years ago, and you said you weren't coming back."  
  
"It's not like I had much choice when you moved out, and Mother and Father died, and the house was left in disrepair." Lucas snapped. "You have no right to just waltz in here like you own the place."  
  
"I didn't: I even came in through the kitchen entrance, and I found a thief." Frederic protested, for once slipping off his cheerful mask.  
  
"'M not a thief," I mumbled from the doorway.  
  
They both turned to me at exactly the same time, and it was all I could to to keep myself from laughing. Lucas was even wearing his glasses, the same kind that his brother had, so the effect was laughable. Trying not to look too guilty, I gave a half-hearted wave. Frederic raised an eyebrow and grinned, while Lucas only consented not to look so angry.  
  
"No, you're not." Lucas said. "But that's not the point. Frederic, you are not welcome here."  
  
"Just because I lost you all your clothes in strip-poker once, you don't have to be this angry," Frederic chuckled. My eyes nearly popped out of my sockets at the thought of Lucas and strip-poker in the same sentence. "Bearing grudges is all well and good, but for seventeen years? That's just a bit too long."  
  
"Fine. I won't throw you out, but only if you promise to help me," Lucas said after a while of thinking. "I have a project over summer."  
  
It took me perhaps half a minute to figure out he was talking about me. After that half-minute of confusion, I became annoyed. I knew I wasn't the most welcome house-guest in the history of wizard kind, but to refer to me as a project was just wrong: the only thing I'd done to deserve it was try to get out of Knockturn Alley alive, if not well.  
  
"I have a name," I muttered sullenly. "I went from annoying brat, to a complication, to a summer project. It would be nice to be called by name sometime."  
  
"Fine, fine, Zabini." Lucas rolled his eyes, "Though Merlin knows you act like a brat most of the time."  
  
"I'm a Slytherin: I don't act like a brat without a good purpose." I pointed out. "At the moment, that purpose might be merely to annoy the hell out of you, sir, but still, it's better than any Gryffindor might come up with."  
  
"Sir?" Frederic broke in.  
  
"I'm a teacher," Lucas passed it off. "It's not important. Eat something, Zabini: you look like you're falling over. Where did you get those robes anyway?"  
  
"Random shop in Diagon Alley," I said, confused. "Why do you ask?"  
  
"They reek of magic." He said cryptically before disappearing through door, closely followed by his still cheerful brother, inquiring about the summer project.  
  
One Lucas was bad enough, but two of them was enough to confuse Dumbledore. Muttering to myself about the crazy brothers, I returned to the kitchen and, on Lucas orders, fixed myself some breakfast that wasn't made up of caffeine.  
  
''''''''''''''  
  
Having eaten a rather insubstantial breakfast, (the only thing kept in the pantry was a rotten tomato, some salad dressing and a cheese you could shave) I set about unpacking properly. The room Lucas had given me came equipped with a bookcase, so I stacked all by new books in it: Le Feuvre's Compendium of Curses next to a book on Muggle meditation, Muggle psychology next to a book on magical mind control. In complete disorder, but easily accessible.  
  
My clothing went into the wardrobe after some quick cleaning spells, and my trunk was shoved under the bed. Since Lucas hadn't ordered me around to do anything else, I settled down on my bed to check over my newly acquired robe. At first, I hadn't thought anything was wrong with it, but since Lucas had claimed that it reeked of magic, I might as well look into it. I spread the garment out on the bed, deciding to do a visual check first, and then try to trace the magic with spells if need be.  
  
At first glance, the robes looked normal, if a bit short, but then I noticed something. In between the green fabric were threads of dark blue, but they were woven in such a way that they completed patterns in the robe. Not many spells used patterns, either hand made or like these, woven into fabric, but there were a few. Most of them were defensive spells, protection charms, though there were a few others. The spell to make the robe fit anyone who wore it was probably one of those. A quick once-over with a detection spell I'd found in the library before the O.W.L's turned up nothing: the spells seemed to be so well hidden that not even other magic could find it.  
  
"Well, that's sneaky." I muttered to myself. "Almost Slytherin."  
  
Putting the robe on again, I decided it was time for some of my daily reading. I'd gotten halfway though Compendium of Curses, and might as well finish it over summer. Worrying about magical cloaks sounded like something weak-minded heroines in Muggle fiction books would do. Right up there with talking to bluebirds. Since I wasn't weak-minded (I hoped) or a girl (of which I was certain) worrying about it was something I wouldn't do. Nose- deep in Le Feuvre's Compendium, the robes were the furthest thing from my mind.  
  
Through the half-open door, I could hear Lucas and his brother arguing, though they were too far away for me to be able to discern what they were saying. Their shouting reminded me of my parents when Father was still alive, and occasionally came home. They'd shout like that too, while I hid up in my room and tried to keep Marise from crying. However, it seemed that Lucas and his brother had just fallen back into a habit of fighting, that it was nothing serious. At least, I hoped it wasn't: a whole summer of them doing nothing but fighting with each other would be tiring.  
  
Their first encounter had seemed off, somehow, even with them fighting. It was as if they'd read off an invisible script, and not very well at that: their words were stilted, stiff and awkward. Even Lucas' question about my robes sounded rehearsed. Something was off, but at the moment I was too tired to find out what it was. Perhaps they'd even tell me themselves, though that might be hoping too much. In the meantime, I'd just read and hope they stopped fighting.  
  
That Lucas had any living family, let alone a brother, surprised me no end. He had the demeanour of an only child: he was obviously used to getting what he wanted, and getting it quickly. He was not one to suffer fools, or anyone else for that matter, and let people know it. If he had acted like that when he was younger, it was no surprise that he had moved out, or that his younger brother had. I'd assumed Frederic was the younger brother, since he had both behaved like one and looked to be younger than Lucas. Of course, at times, Dumbledore looked younger than Lucas, but that was hardly the point.  
  
Concentrating on the book, I attempted to shut out the sounds of their fighting. Le Feuvre's Compendium was an extremely interesting book, and after a couple of minutes I was to immersed in it that only a rampaging Graphorn could have made me put it down. I was reading about a particularly grisly binding spell, used by the Durmstrang Institute to bind their employees to service. I wondered to myself whether Dumbledore practised spells like that on Hogwarts professors, but dismissed the thought: he was far too kind and sympathetic to cause that much pain to anyone. Except, perhaps, Voldemort.  
  
Sometime during my reading, the shouting had stopped. When I finished reading about the binding spell, I noticed the house was completely quiet. It was so quiet that I could hear the wind shake the trees outside my window. I shut the book with a snap and replaced in on the shelf before walking out of my room.  
  
"I hope no one's died." I mumbled to myself.  
  
So I wandered through the hallways of the Lucas' ancestral home, looking for traces of life. The only things I found were dust-bunnies and spider webs. Whatever Lucas had been doing over the summer holidays so far, it hadn't involved cleaning up his house any. Tapestries so old they would crumble in the lightest breeze adorned the walls, and rows upon rows of portraits lined the hallways. Most of them had an uncanny resemblance to Frederic, while Lucas looked more like a cross between an elf and Cerberus, the hound of hell. While Frederic and Lucas looked alike to some extent, Lucas looked more otherworldly than his brother.  
  
Traces of someone walking on the dusty floor led me to two huge doors, wrought in wood and bronze. In the middle of the two doors was a crest of bronze, depicting an hourglass with a snake twisting around it, and along the edge of the circular plate, faded words in the wood. I peered at them, momentarily distracted from my search, trying to make out what was written.  
  
"´Nothing endures but change´." I could finally read aloud. "I've read that somewhere before."  
  
"It's quoted from Heraclitus, a Greek philosopher." Lucas informed me, coming up from behind me. "I see you've found the library."  
  
"And I see you've stopped fighting with your brother," I shot back. "This is your library? It's huge."  
  
"And you haven't seen the inside yet," Lucas looked vaguely amused in the way that only he could. "Tell me, Zabini, have you ever seen the Muggle movie The Beauty and the Beast?"  
  
"No: I've only ever seen A Nightmare Before Christmas." I shrugged. "What does that have to do with anything?"  
  
"It might have given you some idea as to the size of the library." He said, pushing the doors open. A cloud of dust rose from the floor, and he coughed. "A bit of cleaning is in order, I believe. Welcome inside, Zabini."  
  
I stepped inside, and lost control over my brain functions immediately. The Hogwarts library was extensive, and a small child might well be lost in the book stacks of it, but it wasn't a patch on this: in here,a whole circus of people, armed with horses, elephants and tigers, could easily hide behind the bookshelves. And the bookshelves could rival the ceiling of the Great Hall at Hogwarts in height. They went from floor to ceiling, packed full of books and maps and manuscripts, criss-crossed with ladders and specially built walkways.  
  
"This isn't a library: it's a bloody city," I breathed, finally regaining the use of my voice.  
  
"It is larger on the inside than it is on the outside," Lucas informed me from the doorway as I wandered further in on the marble floor. "It's a titanic effort, a temporal and spatial masterpiece. It took nearly a lifetime to conceive and complete, and has stood unchanged for nearly a thousand years. It was built by my ancestor, Daveth Lucas, just before Salaazar Slytherin buried the hatchet and helped build Hogwarts. You can spend days in here, researching, and come out to find that only hours have passed. My ancestor was a thoughtful man."  
  
"It's amazing." Was all I could get out. "It's really over one thousand years old?"  
  
"Yes." Lucas nodded. "The only things that have changed over that millennium is the number of books stored in here."  
  
"How many are there?" I asked, nearly breaking my neck trying to see the top-most books, impossibly far above me.  
  
"Well over six thousand that we have been able to count. Heraclitus' is just one of the Muggles whose books we keep in here: Greek philosophers were a bit of a hobby for Leonard Lucas, my great great grandfather." He smiled, an odd expression on Lucas' face. "Every topic under the sun is represented in here. Philosophy, theology, Defence against and the Dark Arts themselves, ancient history both Muggle and magical, self-defence, martial arts, and," he had wandered up next to me and followed my gaze up to the rafters of the immense library, "Somewhere, though we've never been able to find it, the Book of Creation. The real one, not the one the Muggles call Bible, the one that created such structures as Atlantis, Hogwarts and the Dream-Palace of Merlin himself."  
  
"Promise me something, Lucas," I said, not taking my eyes off the books. "Never, ever let Hermione Granger in here. Even on the pain of death."  
  
"Why not? She seems like she enjoys the Hogwarts library." For some reason, he let my addressing of him only by his last name pass unnoticed.  
  
"Exactly: she enjoys the Hogwarts library: if we let her in here, however, she'd never come out and we'd find her bleached bones beside some book." I shook my head and chuckled. "She's a bit too enthusiastic, and I believe she would have a heart-failure if we let her in here."  
  
"Good point." Lucas said. "I'll remember that, if it ever comes to keeping Ms Granger in my home."  
  
I didn't answer. I was too caught up in my inspection of the library. Someone had, after extending the space and time used for the library, decided that bookshelves that reached the ceiling wasn't enough. The floor, made of pure white marble, had been inlaid, in the circular space left in the middle, with stones of a variety of colours. A twisting labyrinthine path had been laid into the floor, made of blue, polished stone and white marble. In the blue stone, curling patterns, painted gold, had been etched, possibly by magic. They were reminiscent of those threaded into my cloak.  
  
"Why build all of this?" I wondered.  
  
"For a place to keep those books never meant to be read," Lucas said, running his hand across the spines, "For a place to keep wizardkind safe. There are books in here that could corrupt the mind of the purest of individuals, books that hold spells to the destruction of Earth. And in the middle of the night, the books read each other. With such a high concentration of magic in one place, it stretches the fabric of reality almost to the breaking point. Those runes on the floor are the only things that keep the library from collapsing in on itself and letting the power of the books free."  
  
"Admirable effort," I mumbled.  
  
"Promise me something, Zabini."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Never go in here alone."  
  
''''''''''''''  
  
Ending Notes: Enter another OC. Hopefully, he'll be remotely entertaining. Frederic is modelled after one of my friends, though made ten years older and given glasses. They even share the same name. The Lucas Library is, to some extent, modelled after the Unseen University's Library from Terry Pratchett's Discworld books. I've made it a touch more serious than Pratchett's though: here you won't find an ape as a librarian. 


	36. Serenity is for the Weak

I slammed into the wall with a resounding crack. My vision blurred as white sparks flashed behind my eyes, caused by the back of my head hitting the stone with enough speed to crack it open. I would have come to a rather abrupt demise, if I hadn't been wearing my green robe. As it turned out, the spells woven into it was not only defensive, but designed to turn blows and soften harsh landings somewhat. Wincing at the pain in my head, I pushed myself off the wall.  
  
"You've got to do better than that," Lucas told me, his wand still levelled at my chest. "You're slow: how can you expect to still stand if you don't do anything?"  
  
"I don't know which spell to use!" I snapped back, angry with myself for failing and angry with him for snapping at me.  
  
"You're not supposed to use spells!" He hissed, as angry as he had been when he found me in Knockturn Alley. "You've even gone past that: the little trick you pulled in the Forbidden Forest with the green fire proves that. Let you magic do the work: it knows what to do, you know what to do if you only let it happen. Now stand up straight and we'll try again."  
  
Gritting my teeth against the angry reply I had been about to make, I straightened up and tried to be ready for the next blow. A week at the Lucas residence had left me with a marginally better control of my magic, for which I was grateful. But, after countless explanations, I still did not know how to use it properly. Perhaps Lucas was no good at explaining things, or perhaps it was the heat of summer that made me dense. Either way, I was being routinely bashed senseless in the training sessions.  
  
"It's simple," he would say, time and time again. "Just let your magic do the work."  
  
But it wasn't that simple. I had tried, time and time again, to let my magic do the work, but it was nearly impossible to do something with such vague instructions. It was like being ordered to take down the moon and only being given a ladder by way of help. It was within the realm of the possible, but just out of reach. I just couldn't grasp how I was suppose to use my magic. When I had been slammed into the wall a fifth time, Lucas let me off, sighing and rolling his eyes.  
  
A quick lunch, consisting of sandwiches and coffee, and I was off again. This time to see Frederic, Lucas' brother. Apparently, Lucas had decided that I needed better skill in hand-to-hand fighting, and had sent me to his all other than sane younger brother. Frederic though, turned out to be a bigger surprise than I had previously thought. While he quoted things incessantly, tricked and cheated his brother at every chance he got, and was more likely to end up in a straitjacket than in a teaching position, he was easier to get along with than his brother.  
  
"Vincent's been beating you up, I see," was his greeting when I walked out of the house and onto the grass of the backyard.  
  
Frederic had shed his wizarding robes in favour of Muggle clothing, consisting of mostly black and red. Those two colours seemed to be the Lucas' family colours, appearing everywhere, from Frederic's Muggle clothing to his brother's robes to everything in the wardrobe that didn't belong to me. In the sweltering heat of summer, the colours seemed highly inappropriate, but the brothers persisted in wearing them in spite of it.  
  
"He doesn't pull his punches." I agreed. "But I still don't get how I'm supposed to use my magic."  
  
"You don't?" He seemed surprised, "It's simple!"  
  
"That's what your brother says too, but it turns out it isn't." I grumbled. "No one sees fit to stop and explain things to me."  
  
"Well, my brother has never been one for explanations," Frederic grinned. "It is simple, if you know the basic principles. You know there's more to a spell than just the words, right?"  
  
"Of course: you have to know what the spell does, and do the correct gestures and all," I shrugged, sitting down on the grass under one of the willow-trees.  
  
It seemed the Lucas ancestral home was over-dimensioned everywhere, and not just their miracle of a library. To the estate belonged several acres of moorland and one small mountain. Just behind the mansion was what the brothers deemed a backyard, which was about the size of two Quidditch fields. Willow-trees circled a lake, much larger than the average garden pond, and enough grass to feed an army of horses covered the grounds. While Lucas preferred loitering inside, his brother was more often than not found in the backyard, attempting some of his latest ideas.  
  
"Well, now that you don't have the words, you have to concentrate on the rest," Frederic told me cheerfully, gesturing wildly like he always did. "It's not difficult at all. In fact, wandless magic, while extremely hard to achieve, is easy to carry out. You just have to concentrate on what you want to happen, and if you've got magic that's strong enough, it will instinctively carry out the task. Simple, no?"  
  
"That's all there is to it?" I asked, shocked at the simpleness.  
  
"Nah, there's some more complicated things, such as actually holding back some of the magic so you don't blow up teacups when all you want is to heat your tea," he grinned. "But that's the basics of it. For simple things at least: like trying to keep on your feet when someone lobs a rock at your head, or deflect a spell someone casts at you."  
  
"I pity your brother next time around," I grinned evilly. "He's not going to know what hit him."  
  
"Pity myself because I can't be there to watch is what I'm going to do," Frederic's grin didn't waver. "Let's get started."  
  
So followed two hours of rigorous physical training. Having lived in the Snake pit for six years, I already had the basic instinct that was required to carelessly throw punches at strangers. All Frederic had to do was teach me how to hurt the most, where to hit to break bones and how to angle kicks to give most effect. After the first hour, we stopped to take a breather in between fights, and I more or less collapsed on the grass once more.  
  
"Where did you learn to fight like that?" I asked, out of breath.  
  
"Too many bar-brawls for my age, and a rather informative month in Tibet." He said. "What I want you to do now, since you've proved that you're learning ridiculously quickly, is to use your magic to boost yourself while fighting."  
  
"In what way?" I asked, a bit surprised. I thought I was going horribly slow, instead of learning quickly like he said. "And I'm not learning quickly: you're still worlds better than I am."  
  
"I've had a lifetime of training: you've had little over a week." He reminded me. "You might have come here with a punch like a mule on you, and some survival skills in the way of fist fights, but I've had years, while you now have less than two months. There's no conceivable way I can teach you enough by the time you're going back to school, but damn me if I won't try. Who knows, you might even be ready for Death Eaters next time around. Stand up, and let's have at it again."  
  
''''''''''  
  
That night, like every one before, I fell into my bed dead on my feet, asleep before I hit the mattress. Hours of readings books, followed up by a bashing from Lucas, and ended with a two-hour fist-fight, which while not serious then at least exhaustive, was enough to kill anyone's enthusiasm for summer. Dinner wasn't exactly a happy affair either. Frederic would attempt, in his insane way, to be cheerful and quote things we had never heard of. I would try not to fall asleep in the soup, dead tired after the day's exercise. Lucas would be reading something and ignoring his brother.  
  
A rather gloomy situation altogether. It was no better that breakfast and lunch were exactly the same, I reflected when I sat down at the kitchen table the next morning. I drained my cup of coffee in silence, reading yesterday's Daily Prophet. They had run another article on Potter, mostly about his relationship with his teachers and whether or not they favoured him because he was famous. I snorted into my cup, thinking about Snape and Lucas.  
  
"What are you reading?" Frederic wondered from his plate of eggs.  
  
"Daily Prophet," I replied, "It's about Potter. Again. They think his teachers favour him because he's famous. What a load of dragon dung."  
  
"Really?" He asked, buttering his toast. "Why?"  
  
"You've never been in Potions with Potter and Snape, I hear," I said, putting down the paper. "Potter's lucky if he can get away with only twenty points removed from his House. Not to mention what Lucas, your brother, does when he doesn't shut up."  
  
"You go to school with him?"  
  
"Yes." I nodded. "And he's just as annoying at sixteen as he was at eleven."  
  
"He's sixteen already?" Frederic wondered, taking a bite of his toast. "Time flies, eh? I can still remember the day I heard the news: I was eight, playing gobstones with myself, when Mother came rushing out of the house screaming about the Potters."  
  
"Hmm." I mumbled blandly. "Must have been quite the experience."  
  
"Nah. She screamed a lot, our mother did," he finished the toast. "You should have heard her when Vincent upped and moved out. That was a woman who didn't need a Howler to be heard across a continent."  
  
"When did he leave?" I asked without thinking.  
  
"After graduation," Lucas informed me, walking through the door of the kitchen. "Not that it is entirely your business. However, since you will be staying here for six weeks, calling me Lucas will be rather cumbersome, considering there's two of us."  
  
"And what am I supposed to call you? Francis?" I grumbled.  
  
"Wouldn't Vincent do?" Frederic suggested. "It's his name, after all, though Francis does have a certain ring to it."  
  
"Shut up," Lucas, no, Vincent snapped, cuffing his brother over the head. "If you ever call me Francis again, I shall write to the Daily Prophet and announce your horrid preference for pink underwear."  
  
"But I don't prefer pink underwear." Frederic said, confused. "In fact, I think it's against our dress-code to wear pink underwear."  
  
"I know that, you know that and, though Merlin might forgive us, now Zabini knows that too." Lucas – no, Vincent – said patiently. "But who do you think the world is going to believe? You, furiously denying the colour of your underwear, or the Daily Prophet, the reading of choice for magical Britain?"  
  
"Shut up?" Frederic requested, looking frightfully embarrassed.  
  
I,meanwhile, was trying not to snort coffee through my nose, laughing hard enough to have me rolling on the floor. The bickering brothers were, at times, hilarious without intention. Frederic was hilarious almost constantly: it seemed to be his modus operandi, but L – no, Vincent. It was going to take a lot of time getting used to calling him Vincent. - well, Vincent was the most stone-faced man I had ever met. He would, seriously, not crack a smile at the most hilarious joke ever thought up. He was more likely to give the person in question a detention and go and kill some chocolate instead.  
  
"Calm yourself, Zabini." Vincent told me. "You have a lesson to attend to."  
  
"Right." I said, putting down my empty cup and trying to keep from choking on coffee. "I'll do that."  
  
'''''''''  
  
This time, I was ready when the blow came. It was a simple Stunning charm, but yesterday, it would have knocked me off my feet. Today, instead, I imagined the spell burning out and disappearing about a feet away from me, sputtering out like a candle. It took effort, oh yes, but it worked just the way Frederic has said that it would. All I did was close my eyes for a second, imagine what I wanted to happen, and then made it so. To be perfectly honest, there was a bit more to it than that: I didn't just need to imagine what should happen: I needed to know it, at a bone-deep level. I needed to know that the spell would burn out before it reached me, and with that knowledge, make it so.  
  
"You've learned." Vincent – I had to stop myself from calling him Lucas even in my mind – said, lowering his wand. There was a faintly surprised look on his face, tainted with traces of pride and amusement. Only Vincent Lucas could pull of all those emotions at once. "When did you realise what you needed to do?"  
  
"Your brother had to tell me." I said, straightening up slightly. "You know, this would have been much easier if you had just told me how."  
  
"You were on the verge of finding out by yourself," he shrugged. "If I had let you go unaided you would have found the way."  
  
"No, I would have snapped, and you would have been a little pile of ashes and you know that Vincent," I was growing more and more annoyed with him, and his given name slipped out by accident. "You have seen what happen when I lose control. You know how dangerous I am."  
  
"Magic, by definition, is dangerous," he said, putting his wand back in his pocket. "It is, after all, the ability to do anything you please, as long as you have the right words and a piece of stick with some feathers in it. With magic, knowledge truly is power. But like with all knowledge, it is not what you have that matters, it's how you use it. Wandless magic has even less restrictions, so control is a major issue. But, once you have that control, it's almost impossible to lose."  
  
"Ollivander would murder you if he knew you just called his art ´a stick with some feathers in it´." I pointed out, not replying to his statement.  
  
"He's far too kind to murder anyone, let alone me." Vincent snorted. "I think you've proven that you are capable of wandless magic. We'll begin on what, specifically, one can do with it tomorrow."  
  
"So I'm supposed to shove off now?"  
  
"Precisely."  
  
''''''''''''''  
  
The knowledge that I had actually accomplished something more than a couple of bruises was refreshing. Frederic went easy on me that afternoon, claiming that I had accomplished enough for one day, and that he could pummel me in the morning. With those comforting words, he proceeded to conjure up some food and we spent about an hour sitting under one of the willows, eating sandwiches. Frederic, like always, was as quirky in his choice of food as in any of the things he took up: peanut butter might not be strange, but when coupled with chocolate sauce and left-over corned beef, it was.  
  
"It's not really that bad," he told me, mouth full of the less than appetizing sandwich. "Once you actually eat it, the taste is just perfect."  
  
"You're weird, mister," I told him, quite satisfied with my own ham-and- cheese sandwich.  
  
"Frederic," he corrected. "Don't call me mister: it feels like you're talking to my father."  
  
"Hmm," I said through a mouthful of sandwich.  
  
"I thinking about going to the library." He announced out of the blue, like he always did. "Feel up to being my safety-catch?"  
  
"Sure, as long as I come out alive." I shrugged, finishing my sandwich.  
  
"That which does not kill us, makes us stronger," Frederic laughed, "The man who said that was named Friedrich. He was a Muggle, I believe. Neat name though."  
  
"I bet," I snorted.  
  
The library never ceased to amaze me. I was no small person, but even I felt dwarfed by the gigantic proportions, the multitude of books in there, and the sheer size of the bookshelves. At first, I had thought that L – Vincent's warning had been in jest, but then Frederic had requested I follow him to the library, saying he didn't want to be alone in there. The fact that the carelessly fearless Frederic didn't want to be alone with the books got through to me the seriousness of the warning more resoundingly than any amount of evil looks from his brother.  
  
Still, the library seemed so much more beautiful than sinister. The wide windows let in the sunlight, which made patterns on the floor, the kind my sister used to dance across when I was still living at home. As Frederic began to climb one of the ladders that criss-crossed the shelving, I remained on the floor and, in a fit of impulsiveness, skipped across the light-and-shadow pattern, just like my sister did. I stopped as the tip of my boot brushed the mysterious pattern in the middle of the floor. V- Vincent, damn it, had said it was what kept the library stable.  
  
Curious, I settled down on the floor, legs crossed, and studied the spiral. The swirling, golden pattern in the strange blue stone that was closest to me looked like a wide open eye. Without thinking, I unclasped my robe and put it on the floor, spread it out next to the spiral, to compare the patterns, see if I could find some similarities. In the middle of the back of my robe was that wide-open, unblinking eye, just the same as it was in the blue stone. Furrowing my brow, I traced it with my finger.  
  
"The unblinking eye." I mumbled to myself.  
  
I didn't dare touch the symbol in the blue spiral, in fear of what might happen. If it turned out to be the one making sure the library walls still stood, and touching it meant taking the support away, I didn't want to be responsible. I could just imagine the look on L-Vincent's, how hard it was to even remember to think his name, face when he found out what had happened to his thousand-year-old library.  
  
I could hear Frederic whistle somewhere far above me, moving along one of the walkways looking for a book. Knowing Frederic, he was most likely skipping along. Cheerfulness ought to be punishable by law: as soon as I graduated, I was going to create an antidote for it. Frederic was an especially serious case: he was even cheerful in his sleep. The Lucas brothers were mirror opposites: Vincent was constantly serious, while Frederic never was, Vincent never laughed, while Frederic did it all the time. And yet, on the outside, the only things that differenced between them were the colour of their eyes, the length of their hair and their heights. And even there, it was only a couple of inches that differed.  
  
Frederic came climbing down the ladder again, holding a heavy, blue book under his arm. Just as he came down the last rung of the ladder, he jumped off, touching the floor with a grin on his face. With a wink at me, he opened he book, pulled out a wand and cleared his throat. With a growing sense of dread, I gathered up my robe and scrambled to my feet and out of the way, but he didn't aim the wand at me, but at the doors, and then he spoke clearly.  
  
"Perseco crinis." He said, moving his wand through a rather complicated routine.  
  
My lips moved as I tried to decipher his words: it was Latin, but a mangled Latin. It was something with cutting off, removing, but I couldn't figure out the second word. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it, I didn't have to, since outside the library, someone was approaching fast, swearing in a dozen different languages at once. The doors were thrown open, and in stormed Vincent Lucas, but something was wrong, something was off with him. He was walking too fast for me to see exactly what, but then he stopped abruptly and levelled his wand at Frederic, and I had to stop myself from laughing out loud.  
  
His hair, previously long enough for him to hide a small tribe of pygmies in, had been viciously shorn off at about the same length as his brother's, right beneath the shoulders. To say that he was angry was to miss a perfectly good moment to use the word outraged. His hands were shaking, that's how angry he was.  
  
"Run." He told his brother coldly. "It'd be no sport killing you where you stand."  
  
"Come now, Vincent, you desperately needed to get rid of that mat of hair," Frederic grinned, putting the book back on the shelf, despite that it, until just a moment ago, had been filled to capacity. "You could hide in it."  
  
"It never occurred to you that it might have been the point?" Vincent asked, dangerously calm. "If I hid in it, at least there would be no resemblance to you."  
  
"Just because I'm prettier than you there's no need to be bitter, Vince," Frederic dared to pat his brother's shoulder. "Besides, you look good in it."  
  
With a decidedly out of character howl, Vincent chased his brother from the library. I chuckled, watching them go, before leaving the library myself and firmly shutting the door. Once more, the house echoed with the shouts of the Lucas brothers.  
  
Serenity was for the weak, anyway.  
  
'''''''''  
  
Ending Notes: I just couldn't let them get along for a whole chapter. Besides, Frederic is more amusing when he's making trouble anyway. It seems I'm running out of things to write pretty quickly in this part, but there's still some chapters to go; say four, at the most. We're nearing the end, folks. Soon, part three will be started. 


	37. Muggle Quoting & Lack of Sleep

Sleep was not something to be found in the Lucas home that summer. Frederic nearly drove me into the ground with his wish, no need, to teach me as much as the six remaining weeks would allow. The techniques he taught me grew more and more complicated, and at times, when the mood took him, he would ambush me, just to see if I remembered anything he had shown me. Invariably I did: one tends to remember things quite clearly when someone comes at you with intention to hurt you.  
  
That, of course, was after the hex-marks cleared. Vincent had not been forgiving when his brother forcibly cut his hair off. The house had echoed with curses the rest of the afternoon, and I had found Frederic tied up under one of the willows, his hair now a nice shade of blue, and with the words "I shall never curse my brother again" written across his face. Of course, as soon as I had untied him, he went on a hex-hunt for his brother.  
  
Some things never change.  
  
Vincent had arrived the next day with his hair tied back with a red piece of thread, looking everything but happy. He proceeded to teach me that the best way to find out what I was capable of was by trial and error, before slipping back into a thoughtful trance, no doubt imagining the grisly death of his brother. When he finally decided that killing his brother would be killing his last surviving family member, he let it go and helped me instead. It became easier with time to call him Vincent, even in my mind, though I avoided to say his name aloud as much as possible.  
  
The summer passed in a series of lessons and exhausting nights, spent reading through my tiny library. At times, I had confusing dreams: I dreamed my father was alive and happy. While that might not be spectacular in itself, he always greeted me with a smile and congratulated me on finding such good friends, and on memorable occasions, such a wonderful girl. I dreamed my friends turned away from me, I had dream-visions of their dead and bleeding bodies. From those dreams, I woke up sweating and shivering, the fear from the dream carrying on into waking time.  
  
At yet other times, I dreamed of the Forbidden Forest, of the raging Graphorn. But in those dreams, I was never quick enough, and Hermione died, her last words accusations of my guilt. Those dreams left me nauseous and shaking like a tree in a storm, sweating ice and nearly crying. I prided myself on crying very rarely: I could remember only twice since I was twelve. Once when Father died, and once during one of my breakdowns. But, in the middle of those dreams, I woke up choking on my tears. But then I always realised Hermione was still alive and safe in her home, and I could calm down again.  
  
Sleep was a rare commodity, so I took what I could get and used it to the best of my abilities.  
  
''''''''''''''  
  
"Are there any limits to wandless magic?" I asked one day in the beginning of July. "Is there anything I won't be able to do?"  
  
"Of course there are limits," Vincent said, looking up from his book. "You won't ever be able to bring people back from the dead. The will always be a backlash, of course, in proportion to what you do. If you simply light a candle, nothing much but a tiny weariness, but if you set fire to a whole house at once, well, you won't be able to stand up in the morning unless you're made of sterner stuff than most people."  
  
"How come you know so much about wandless magic?"  
  
"I made a study of it, after I left Hogwarts," he said quietly. "It lingers, long, long after the caster has died. I ran into a complicated sealing spell on a tomb in Bulgaria when I was twenty. No matter what we threw at it, it wouldn't break, so I sat down and figured it out in my head. It took me two weeks to realise that there was no magical signature made by a wand that felt like that. It was only then we realised we had run into something old, far older than the construction of Hogwarts: a true seal made by Merlin himself. And of course, everybody knew that Merlin didn't own a wand, that he did all his magic with nothing but his mind. So I set out to learn as much as possible about the condition. Which was how I came to know Linden, at the Department of Mysteries. I read, I listened, I felt and I remembered. I learned, slowly but surely, but I never knew what it would be like in reality."  
  
"And what is it like?" I wondered, silently not believing what was happening: Vincent never talked about his past, between his graduation and his arrival at Hogwarts. For him to do so was a rare treat indeed.  
  
"It frightens me." He said with a frankness that was unusual, even for him. "You're more powerful than I could ever imagine, but then I remind myself that you aren't a drop in the ocean compared to what I have seen so-called normal men and women do. But for all your power, all your danger, there are things you would just not do. Wandless magic is not something required to become dangerous: the vileness accomplished with a wand in hand is far greater than what I have seen of you, of Merlin, of San, or anyone else with your cursed gift."  
  
A weary smile appeared on his face.  
  
"What I have done, even, by far outmatches what you have done, will ever do. Do not be seduced by the promise of power, Zabini. Voldemort is for all his wishes of immortality, only human, and does not share his power readily. And even if he did, you would never be able to control it." Vincent looked so bone-tired that he was ready to fall asleep then and there. "Don't believe what they tell you, Zabini: the snake on your robes does not brand you as evil. There are things I cannot teach you, things no one but life can teach you. Don't let that be one of them."  
  
The silence that followed was so heavy it cancelled out the sounds of our breathing. Rarely, if ever, did Vincent speak so openly about anything, and I planned to remember that conversation for a long time.  
  
''''''''  
  
"´Initiative comes to thems that wait.´"  
  
"A Clockwork Orange. ´Here it is: The Irish Republican Navy.´"  
  
"The Devil's Own. ´We're not sheep.´"  
  
"Edward Scissorhands. That one was so easy: it's your favourite movie. ´It's got a wonderful defence-mechanism: You don't dare kill it.´"  
  
"Alien." Frederic snorted to himself dismissively.  
  
He and his brother were playing place-the-quote in the living room as I attempted to finish Le Feuvre's Compendium. Currently, they were choosing quotes from Muggle movies. I wasn't having much success, since the brothers' knowledge of Muggle popular culture seemed ridiculously extensive. How that came to be was a mystery, since they claimed not to have seen each other in years, yet seemed to have watched the same movies in the meantime. In Frederic, it might be explainable, since he collected quotes like other people collected clothing, but Vincent said he'd become a Dark Wizard upon leaving Hogwarts, and so could not possibly have seen much of Muggle culture.  
  
"´Stupid is as stupid does´" Frederic continued, picking up the game again.  
  
"Forrest Gump. ´You're afraid of our fleet. Well, you should be. Personally, I'd give us one chance in three. More tea?" Vincent followed up.  
  
"The Hunt For Red October. Let's end this before we bore Zabini to tears," Frederic suggested.  
  
"´And I Jack! The pumpkin king, is getting so tired of the same old thing´" I said, before Vincent had time to reply.  
  
Frederic looked surprised for a moment, then puzzled, as did Vincent. I grinned behind my book and let them puzzle for a while. Not many would be able to recognise that quote: it wasn't as if A Nightmare Before Christmas was a movie most Muggles had seen, let alone wizards.  
  
"Puzzle on that for a while. I'm going to finish my book and get some sleep." I said, before heading up the stairs.  
  
'''''''  
  
Using my wandless magic to create lingering spells turned out to be one of the most difficult things I had ever done. Pure force of will, such as deflecting spells and blowing Vincent off his feet (which I enjoyed doing perhaps a bit too much) was easy in comparison. To create a constant deflection shield around me was one of the first things Vincent wanted me to do.  
  
It turned out to be harder than we thought.  
  
If I saw the hex coming, I could deflect it easily after a few early trial runs, but to keep that shield up was difficult, time and power-consuming. However, if I didn't see the hex, it was only if I wore my green, magic- woven cloak that it was possible to soften the blow. If I didn't see it coming, I couldn't stop it. How could I possibly stop an unseen enemy? The answer to that question was hard-gained.  
  
After weeks of trail and error, I found the simple/complex answer: I had to anchor the shield in myself, instead of building it up from thin air, and it had to become a subconscious reaction to have it up at all times. Only long use and habit would make it an unconscious response, but I nearly passed out in relief the day when I managed to even keep it up long enough to deflect ten random hexes Vincent threw at me. Like with all wandless magic, it became easier and easier to hold it up, and after four weeks, I could hold it up for almost a full day, enduring whatever spells Vincent threw at me.  
  
It was far from a mastery of wandless magic: just like all other magic, it was something that grew with time, not stopping until the day of death. But it was a far cry from the uncontrolled bursts of magical energy I had showed while still in school. I felt more in control, more safe now than I had then. For more offensive spells, I still needed my wand. The green fire seemed to have been a one-time a fluke, a loss of control so severe that it had nearly set fire to the forest.  
  
I could unlock locks, hold up a shield for about twelve hours straight before dropping it in exhaustion, do about fourth-year level magic, up to and including the Summoning Charm, Incendio, the Disarming Charm and Impedimenta. For more complicated offensive spells, I still needed my wand, though Vincent claimed it wasn't far off that I could trade in my wand for some new shirts. Frederic said I should scrap the shirts and just go with trousers, since, as he put it, was a crime against womankind to keep myself under clothing.  
  
I kicked him in the ribs.  
  
'''''''''''  
  
Sometimes, when I had had a particularly bad dream, or just plain couldn't sleep, I'd walk the hallways of the Lucas ancestral home. Frederic slept like a child, not always in his bed, and sometimes I stumbled upon him in the living room, the kitchen or even the corridor, curled up in an armchair, on the floor or pillowed by a tapestry, sleeping quietly. He didn't snore, and neither did his brother. Vincent had his door firmly shut, but Frederic claimed it ran in the family not to snore, so I supposed he didn't.  
  
At times, when these nightly walks weren't enough, I'd end up following Frederic's example by sleeping on the floor. Most of the time, I ended up with my back against the wall just outside the library, listening to the books' whispers as they read each other. It was a comforting sound, though both Frederic and Vincent believed me crazy when I told them. I'd scrape by on a couple of hours of sleep every night, comforted by the sound of the books, and wake up as cheerful as I could be in the morning. Frederic would always try to cheer the both of us up, and at times, even Vincent would relax and look amused at his antics.  
  
"We need to be careful with him now," Frederic mock-whispered to his brother, gesturing at me. "Else he might to moon-struck on us."  
  
"What?" Vincent looked confused. "I think you lost even me there, Frederic."  
  
"Who's Hermione?" Frederic asked, turning to me.  
  
"What? How do you – I've never talked about her with you," I stumbled over my words in surprise.  
  
"You talk in your sleep." He informed me with a wide grin. "A lot."  
  
"Oh? What do I say?" I wondered, slightly nervous.  
  
"Well, there's a lot of mumblings about coffee, for some reason, and sometimes you scream. Not very coherently, mind you, but sometimes, you have these long, mumbled monologues to someone named Hermione, talking about how sorry you are." The grin on his face turned feral. "You got a girlfriend, kid?"  
  
I spat out the coffee I had in my mouth, and it sprayed over the table at his question. Hermione – my girlfriend? Preposterous, that's what it was. That was inconceivable. It just did not happen. First off, she was a Gryffindor. Second, she was a Muggleborn: I didn't have a problem with it, but the rest of the world did. Third, she was Potter's best friend, and I couldn't stand Potter. Fourth, up until a few days before the end of term, I hadn't been able to stand her either. Distantly, I could hear Vincent choke on his toast.  
  
"I believe," Vincent said when he finally came up for air again, "That it is immensely difficult to find two individuals more hostile towards each other than Zabini and Ms Hermione Granger. The exception might be Potter and Malfoy, perhaps."  
  
"Seems he made up with her then," Frederic said brightly. "Since he's beggin' for forgiveness."  
  
"I've made a truce with her, that's true," I said, regaining the use of my voice, "But she's not my girlfriend. She's a Gryffindor, for crying out loud: in the worst sense of the word. Sees something good in everyone, even Lucius-bloody-Malfoy if you'd let her. I can't stand her reasoning, so no, she's not my girlfriend."  
  
"That's not what it sounded like to me," he grinned that annoying grin. "You was swearing up and down you'd never hurt her and all, going on and on about how sorry you was."  
  
"Were, Frederic. The word is ´were´" Vincent corrected tiredly, looking every inch the resigned older brother. "Just leave the boy be, alright?"  
  
After a few sniggers, Frederic did leave the topic, though he seemed to have a hard time containing his laughs the rest of the day. I grumbled and threw my coffee-cup at him, which he snatched up without hesitation and threw back. It was slowed down by the shield and fell ineffectually to the floor by my feet. Not bothering to pick it up, I retreated to my room to re- sort my books for the fortieth time. On the small desk, however, was a thick letter with the Hogwarts crest emblazoned on it.  
  
Hesitantly, I picked it up, weighing it in my hands. It seemed so long ago I had gotten my last owl from Hogwarts, the one with my O.W.L-score. So many things had changed since that owl arrived: I was stronger now, older and much wiser than I had been then. I had lost a parent, gained friends, buried the hatchet with a member of a House my own House had hated for centuries. I had gained power, but at the cost of my own comfort, my own sanity to some extent. So it was with righteous hesitation I opened the letter.  
  
Mr Zabini,  
  
Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry hereby welcomes you to your seventh year of schooling. Enclosed in this letter follows a list of books required for the lessons you are to partake in. Please not that as a seventh year student, you are also required to take the Nearly Exhausting Wizarding Tests at the end of the year.  
  
Sincerely,  
  
Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts' Headmaster.  
  
Well, that was the most bland letter I'd ever read. No strange greetings or words about lemon drops, as could be expected by our illustrious Headmaster. Picking up the envelope again, I pulled out the list of books I would be needing. It seemed to be the same as every year: and advanced Transfiguration book, some compendium of Charms, a new Arithmancy book, and, I noticed with an amused smirk, Le Feuvre's Compedium of Curses. Vincent must have been looking at what I had been reading. I put the list back in the envelope again, turning away from the desk and settling down in my bed.  
  
That I spoke in my sleep had been a startling revelation. I had always believed myself to be if not a still sleeper, then at least a quiet one, but apparently I wasn't. The screams I could understand; I'd been screaming a lot in my dreams of people dying because of me. I could even understand the pleas for coffee, since I was addicted to the stuff. But the pleas to Hermione to forgive me? No, I couldn't even remember dreaming about it, much less speaking it aloud. And Frederic had accused me of fancying her. What a ridiculous thought.  
  
She was much too Gryffindor. That noble wish to save everyone that seemed to be the curse Gryffindors were born with ran strong in her as well, though she wasn't as ready to reject authority as Potter was. She was bright enough to be a Ravenclaw, but chose to waste it on people who would never know what they got. And she wasn't beautiful, at least not in the sense Cho Chang, or that redhead in Diagon Alley had been. But then again, she wasn't trying most of the time: I could still remember clearly the Yule Ball in our fourth year, when she had walked through the doors on Krum's arm, looking as beautiful as I ever saw her. But she wasn't trying. I'd heard her tell someone it had taken her four hours to straighten out her hair, and I could remember wondering why. If Krum had thought her beautiful enough to go to the Ball with when she had hair like a scarecrow, what was the reason to change it?  
  
Besides, she looked fine as she was. The bushy hair was just her, in a way. Just like over-zealous studying was, and the fact that she still had my hat and my book, and that she hadn't told her friends on me when we were fighting, she'd thanked me in the hospital wing after the Defence exam, even though I had been the reason she ended up there. She'd smiled and thanked me and I hadn't had the heart to tell her Vincent only sent me in there to test how strong I was, and that if she hadn't been with me, she'd be alright. I just couldn't tell her the cold truth, but it had been damn nigh impossible to lie to her.  
  
It seemed wrong, somehow, to lie to her, and lying had been my modus operandi for over a year: in fact, she knew more of what had happened than my best friends did. If Millicent trusted me at all once the truth came out, I'd be lucky: It hurt like her to lie to people who would lay down their lives for me if I asked them to, but just as much as it hurt, I realised there was no choice. If they found out, if Hermione found out, it would, despite their wish, be all over Hogwarts, and then Voldemort would know, and I'd become a target in the sick game he played. And if I became one, so would they, and Hermione would be doubly in danger.  
  
It wasn't until I had almost fallen asleep that I realised exactly what I had been thinking. Then, on the heels of that realisation came another, arriving with the same quiet terror the knowledge of Voldemort's resurrection had. In the past few weeks, I had thought and dreamt more about Hermione than about anyone else. And I had spent the last half hour trying to think of reasons not to like her, and hadn't come up with many valid ones. Staring at my pillow in misery, wondering if it was possible to smother oneself to death with it, I acknowledged what my mind had been keeping from me for months.  
  
I liked, fancied, Hermione Granger.  
  
Without further ado, any fatigue I had previously possessed fled in terror before this revelation. Giving up on getting any sleep for the rest of my miserable life, I got up and headed out of my room. It seemed the insanity had come around the corner too fast for me to even see it, but perhaps I could walk it off, logic it away, as it were. There had to be a way out of such a delusional state of mind. Poisoning came to mind quite readily. As did jumping off the roof of a particularly tall building.  
  
My pacing brought me, like most other nights, the the doors of the library. In the absolute silence, I could hear the spidery whispers as the books read each other. I hoped to myself that none of the books was about the art of opening doors, because then who knew what would come out of that library. Turning my thoughts to more pressing matters, such as the fact that I fancied a girl who had more or less been a pre-destined enemy for six years.  
  
"Why aren't you sleeping, Zabini?" Vincent appeared from the general direction of the kitchen.  
  
"Because I'm trying to surgically remove some of my delusional thoughts," I replied truthfully. "And that doesn't make for very good sleeping material."  
  
"It's been quite obvious that you're delusional for a while," Vincent pointed out, looking amused in his very own Vincent-way. "After all, you've been staying here without too many protests. What's the specifics this time?"  
  
"Frederic was right." I responded, staring at the library doors as if they were the most fascinating thing I'd ever seen.  
  
"Now that's something that doesn't occur often. Shall we celebrate the occasion?" He asked drily. "As soon as I know what the occasion is, if course."  
  
"Remember breakfast?"  
  
"I am not in the habit of forgetting meals, so yes, I do."  
  
"He said I talk in my sleep about Hermione. Half an hour ago, or thereabouts, by deranged mind informed of the reason," I said, still not looking at him. It was hard enough to talk about these things with anyone, let alone with him.  
  
"Ah. Girl-trouble. I wondered when it would strike you," he nodded thoughtfully. "The girl you chose to fancy might be a bit strange, when considering the circumstances, but all in all, not unexpected."  
  
"It isn't?" I was surprised: we had been fighting on and off for almost a year, and it hadn't been lover's quarrels either. It had been full-scale, hurtful shouting-matches.  
  
"Zabini, she has you hat." He pointed out, one eyebrow raised. "And you spent one whole week last year spying on her in the library. Don't tell me you thought no one noticed. I was just counting down the hours, really."  
  
"I don't think she noticed." I said, feeling childish.  
  
"Yes, but she's a Gryffindor, and in matters of the heart, they're a bit dense." He shrugged. "Come to think of it, most girls have a hard time believing someone fancies them. I spent a year and a half staring at Eos like an idiot, but she didn't notice more than to ask me if I needed help to the hospital wing."  
  
"Eos? Please tell me you're not talking about Sinistra!" I exclaimed, trying my very best not to think about the implications. Teachers with love- lives, even failed ones, should be illegal.  
  
"Don't sound so shocked," the eyebrow rose once more. "She was in my year when we went to school, and you're not the only one in the house with girl- trouble. Though in Frederic's case, it's more the ladies that have a problem with him."  
  
"I'll go an poison myself now, if you don't mind." I said in a small voice, beating away thoughts of Vincent and Sinistra with a mental broomstick.  
  
"Don't be silly, Zabini. I've worked too hard to let you die now." A smile, something that did not often grace his face, appeared. "And how do you know that Ms Granger isn't pacing through her house, debating her sanity because of you?"  
  
"Because she's a genius," I snapped moodily, "And I'm a freak."  
  
"Frederic's a freak. You're just moderately strange."  
  
I did the only thing I could think of.  
  
I stuck out my tongue at him.  
  
''''''''  
  
Ending Notes: Next chapter is probably going to be the last of SV2, though there's nothing certain when it comes to this fic. There are parts of this chapter that I don't like, but I'll have to suffer them since I can't seem to make them any better. I apologise in advance for any inconsistencies, time-line-wise, when it comes to the Muggle movie-quotes. I just pulled out the most obscure quotes I could find on the net, and ended up with those. And if that part seems strange, it's just to illustrate the schizophrenia that is Frederic.   



	38. Tomorrow's Teachings

I fancied Hermione Granger. Not in the end-of-the-world, heaven's-about-to- fall way, but in an awkward, stilted kind of way. Most of the time, I attempted to ignore it. It didn't work very well, but at least I didn't spend my time moping around because I was miserable. It wasn't like I loved her, anyway. I barely knew her, had only been on speaking-terms with her for three days before summer holidays started. So I decided that moping over things was the worst I could do, and set about learning as much as I could before Hogwarts started up again.  
  
Frederic had kept up his practise of ambushing me, and I was able to sense him coming most of the time. To be perfectly honest, he was the stealthiest walker I had ever encountered, and it was only my shield that made me sense him about a feet away, but that was enough time to duck out of the way of his kicks or punches. I rarely won, but only because Frederic was the best, and the dirtiest fighter I had ever met. He knew every trick in the books. Hell, he wrote the book. There was nothing he did not see a weapon in: a broken bottle, a paving stone, a quill, his shoes.  
  
He told me kill someone with his glasses.  
  
Frankly, he frightens me more than Voldemort ever did. At least the Dark Lord never tried to kill someone with a pair of wire-framed glasses. Frederic, for all his amiable cheerfulness, had a mind like a steel-trap. He was even more frightening than his brother, and that was saying something, since his brother fancied my Astronomy teacher and had a habit of sending poor, unsuspecting students into the Forbidden Forest.  
  
The Lucas' Library was still as fascinating as it ever had been. While still not daring to go in there alone, whenever Frederic or Vincent did, I followed them, picked a book and sat on the floor. There were chairs in the library, which both of the brothers chose to sit in, but I always sat on the floor, next to the blue spiral. It might have been my imagination, but sometimes it felt as if the patterns changed, appearing and disappearing over night.  
  
"You are going to break your back, sitting like that," Frederic pointed out.  
  
"I'm young: I can handle it." I dismissed it, not bothering to look up from my reading.  
  
"It's your back." He shrugged and went back to his own book. It was some volume written by a Japanese wizard, about a samurai as far as I could understand. The blurb on the back was in English, but the book itself, Frederic claimed, was in Japanese. Which was why he was reading it backwards.  
  
"That doesn't stop you from trying to break it every chance you get," I pointed out.  
  
"That's my right and privilege as your teacher," he grinned. "Well, unofficial teacher, but it amounts to the same thing."  
  
"Shut up?" I requested.  
  
"I will, as long as you promise not to mope over your girlfriend."  
  
"She's not my girlfriend." I snapped, "So stop pestering me about it."  
  
Of course he didn't stop. He just shut up for a while. For a man as dangerous as he was, he was certainly juvenile at times. I went back to my book, shaking my head and deciding to ignore him for the time being. I'd taken to reading as much as I could on wandless magic in my spare time, and was currently working through a volume describing the various ways Merlin had enchanted his palace. The Muggle-version of the Arhturian tale was only half of it: Merlin had lived for a lot longer than they thought, only he retreated to a palace of his own making and made it unplottable. It was the first structure in magical history to be made unplottable too.  
  
Quite interesting in its own right, but the book was horribly dull. I snapped it shut and replaced it on the shelf, standing up and stretching till my back popped audibly. Frederic looked up from his book and raised an eyebrow in query. I ignored him and wandered over to one of the huge windows overlooking the grounds before the mansion.  
  
The Lucas family had to have been reach at some point in their history. No poor man could have afforded a mansion such as this: it must have taken decades to build, even with magic to help them. The library alone was a masterpiece that would leave even the unmovable Dumbledore impressed. It was a theoretical impossibility given form, and every time I stepped inside, I found something new to marvel at. The rows of portraits that lined the halls told of how ancient the family was, but it ancestors must have been intensely private people, because I couldn't remember reading about them anywhere before.  
  
History was littered with Blacks and Malfoys, Parkinsons and Bulstrodes, Zabinis and Lestranges, but never a mention of the Lucas family. Anonymity did not equal stupidity, however, as the construction of the library proved. Insanity was a trait that galloped through the old magical bloodlines, as Frederic and I are proof of, but even the most insane Lucas' of history escaped mention. I chuckled a little at the thought, wondering if they had all been like Vincent, wanting to hide and succeeding so well that no one but my mother, his brother and my Astronomy teacher seemed to have heard of him before.  
  
At my chuckle, Frederic once more tore his attention away from the book he was reading and looked at me.  
  
"I've been reading a bit too much: I'm going outside." I said by way of explanation.  
  
"´I can think in here, I'm stepping outside," Frederic said, his voice taking on a Russian accent. He put down his book and followed me out, grinning.  
  
"That's another of those movie quotes, isn't it?" I asked wearily.  
  
"Yup." Frederic was one of the few people in the world who would ever use the word ´yup´ in a normal conversations. "But you'll have to figure out which movie by yourself."  
  
"You know I don't watch movies," I told him for what seemed like the fiftieth time.  
  
"Pity." He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, "It would do you a lot of good. Why, I remember seeing my first Muggle movie in Paris when I was ten. It was An American Werewolf in London. Quite interesting take on lycantrophy, really."  
  
"Having a werewolf as a teacher is a quite interesting take on lycantrophy," I told him, shaking my head.  
  
'''''''  
  
A warm breeze was blowing as I stepped outside, into the sunshine. As summers go, this one hadn't been too bad: I felt much better than I had when leaving school. I wasn't such a nervous wreck any more. My friends, while I had never been a particular danger to them, would be safer when I went back to Hogwarts in two weeks. The summer had passed so quickly, or at least that was how it seemed here at the end of it. From snapping at my Defence professor to calling him by first name, from shopping for my own library in Diagon Alley to spending my days in a library with six thousand known books and an infinite number of shady corners, from living at the Leaky Cauldron to having a room of my own in the Lucas' family mansion, it seemed to have passed by in a dream.  
  
I could remember clearly a conversation between Vincent and myself some two weeks earlier as if it has just happened. I had asked why I had been so shaky in my control of magic before the summer, why I had broken down at the smallest provocation. A fight with Hermione had been enough to have me vomiting on the bathroom floor.  
  
"Emotional reactions," he'd replied promptly, if cryptically. "Strong enough emotions can make anyone do stupid things: throwing vases and dinner plates comes to mind, while hexing someone is the response mostly found in magical folk. When you didn't have a good hold on your magic, losing control is so much easier. Judging from how angry I've seen you get, the amount of anger Ms Granger inspired in you should have been more than enough to push you over the edge."  
  
"So you're saying that I made glass shards fly because I couldn't keep my temper?" I asked sceptically.  
  
"That is exactly what I'm saying." He nodded. "So you better rein in that anger you seem so prone to and hope to high heaven no one crosses you."  
  
"But does that go for all emotions?"  
  
"I'm not sure." He shrugged hesitantly. "Anger and hate are powerful emotions, as is fear, but I don't think you'll be setting fire to your classmates because you're feeling happy. I can't speak certainly about love, since it's almost the same thing as hate, if not more powerful, but I suppose that as long as you don't try to do something, you won't harm anyone by loving them."  
  
I chose to ignore the implications of that statement, and instead turned my thoughts to learning to control my temper. It wouldn't do to have Weasley's hair catch fire just because I happened to be angry with him. Burning Weasleys was probably against school rules, though I was quite sure it wasn't stated black on white anywhere. A lot of things weren't written down in the school rules, but was considered against them in any case. Most of them were just sheer stupidity, such things only Crabbe and Goyle would try to do, but then again, there were some pretty silly rules in the school rule-book.  
  
The one about not keeping man-eating monsters in your sock-drawer for example. I suspected that addition had been courtesy of Dumbledore: no one else would think of students keeping monsters in their sock-drawers. But I suspected Dumbledore knew most of what was going on in the school: perhaps only the Slytherins were devious enough to fool him, if only for a while. No Gryffindor worth his salt would ever understand a Slytherin: only someone who was themselves a Slytherin could do that. It was a peculiar kind of freedom, considering it was the only way to keep secrets at Hogwarts.  
  
I took off my shoes when I reached the lake, sitting down on the edge of water and dipping my feet in. Dipping your feet into the water was something you did on careless summer days. My days would never be careless again, but I'd be damned if I let that get in the way of enjoying my summer. Slowly, after checking that Frederic wasn't around, I let my shield slip away, leaving me bared against magical attacks, but much less weary. It took time and energy to keep it up, time and energy I wasn't sure I could afford to waste.  
  
So many things had changed in such a short time. A year ago, I would never have imagined I would be the first wandless mage in over two hundred years. Then, I hadn't cared about much else than how to pass my classes, how to have as much fun as possible over the summer holidays, and how to escape my mother. A month ago, I was still struggling with the magic that wreaked havoc on my mind. I wouldn't even have known of the possibility of the magical shield I could now hold around me for almost a full day before it disintegrated when my power waned. A week ago, I wouldn't even have considered the fact that I fancied Hermione Granger. An hour ago, I had still believed glasses to be perfectly harmless.  
  
I couldn't possibly comprehend what I would know tomorrow.  
  
'''''''''''''''  
  
Ending Notes: This chapter is super-short, but it is the last one, and there really was nothing more to write in this part. I have a few events left of this summer, but they fit better at the beginning of part three. This monster is now well over one hundred thousand words long, and that's only this part.  
  
I'm thinking about writing some more stories that take place in the SV- verse. Some vignettes about the characters, which are already writing themselves out in my head, as well as writing another novel-length fic, set some ten years before SV. My overheated imagination has already started to plan some of the plot. Hopefully, you'll bear with me through that as well. 


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